GOING  DOWN 

FROM 
JERUSALEM 


GIFT  OF 


OVER      THE     OLD      ROUTE      INTO      EGYPT 


GOING   DOWN 

FROM 

J  ERUSALEM 

THE    NARRATIVE    OF    A 
SENTIMENTAL  TRAVELLER 


BY 

NORMAN     DUNCAN 

AUTHOR   OF 
"DOCTOR  LUKE  OF  THE  LABRADOR" 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY 

LA  WREN   S.  HARRIS 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

NEW  YORK   AND   LONDON 

MCMIX 


BOOKS  BY 
NORMAN    DUNCAN 

GOING  DOWN  FROM  JERUSALEM  :    The  Record  of  a 

Journey. 
THE  CRUISE  OF  THE    Shining  Light:    A    Novel    of 

the  Sea. 
EVERY  MAN  FOR  HIMSELF:  A  Collection    of    Short 

Stories. 

THE  SUITABLE  CHILD:  A  Christmas  Story. 
DOCTOR  LUKE:  A  Novel. 
THE  MOTHER:   A  Short   Novel. 
THE  ADVENTURES  OF  BILLY  TOPSAIL:  A  Story    for 

Boys. 

THE  WAY  OF  THE  SEA:  A  Collection  of  Short  Stories. 
DR.  GRENFELL'S  PARISH:  A  Tract. 


Copyright,  1909,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  reserved. 
Published  October,  1909. 


TO 
THAT   CONSTANT    FRIEND 

MARCELLUS     MILLS     GRAY 

THIS      BOOK      IS      MOST 
HEARTILY     DEDICATED 


45G306 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  SOUL  OF  THE  COBBLER i 

II.  CONCERNING  THE  WORLD  IN  THIS  BLUE  SPACE     .  10 

III.  A  BOOKSELLER  OF  DAMASCUS 15 

IV.  IN  CAMP  AT  BEERSHEBA 21 

V.  A  WAYSIDE  MINSTREL 27 

VI.  TEARS  IN  THE  NIGHT 33 

VII.  GOING  EAST  AND  WEST 37 

VIII.  A  FLEA  ON  THE  BOUNDARY  LINE 43 

IX.  THE  RUNAWAY  BRIDE 48 

X.  THE  DESERT  ROAD 53 

XL          THE  CAMEL-TRADER 59 

XII.  THE  DEVICE  OF  ABDULLAH       64 

XIII.  THE  TALE  OF  THE  NEEDLE  AND  THREAD  ...  68 

XIV.  CAMEL  FOR  CAMEL 72 

XV.  THE  DUST  OF  MEN 75 

XVI.  THE  TOMB  OF  THE  WHITE  Ass 81 

XVII.  THROUGH  THE  SALT  SWAMP 85 

XVIII.  A  SHEIK  OF  ET  Tm 92 

XIX.  THE  CONTENTED  MAN 101 

XX.  THE  CANOUN  AND  THE  ANGEL 106 

XXI.  THE  CANOUN  AND  THE  ANGEL  (Continued)      .     ,  114 

XXII.  AT  THE  WELL  OF  THE  SLAVE 121 

XXIII.  THE  BLACK  BEDOUIN 126 

XXIV.  HALF-WIT  OF  THE  LEBANON  HILLS 130 

XXV.  A  DESERT  DETECTIVE 136 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

XXVI.  THE  MAGICAL  MATCH 142 

XXVII.  A  WOE-BEGONE  POET 148 

XXVIII.  THE  DILIGENT  YOUNG  DARWISH  OF  AL  BUSRA  152 

XXIX.  THE  UGLY  WRITER  OF  TEHERAN      ....  156 

XXX.  THE  SHIRT  OF  THE  CONTENTED  MAN    .     .     .  161 

XXXI.  THE  CAMEL  WITH  THE  GLASS  EYES      .     .     .  164 

XXXII.  THE  HONEST  TRADER  OF  NEJD 172 

XXXIII.  ON  THE  ROAD  TO  KANTARA 177 

XXXIV.  THE  FIVE  TROUBLES 182 

XXXV.  A  PRINCE  IN  MESOPOTAMIA 186 

XXXVI.  A  BEDOUIN  IN  CUSTODY 193 

XXXVII.  DOGS  OF  THE  ENGLISH 197 

XXXVIII.  HELD  UP 202 

XXXIX.  RACHID  GOES  HOME  .  208 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


OVER   THE    OLD    ROUTE    INTO    EGYPT Frontispiece 

IN    THE    MARKET-PLACE Facing  p.      1 8 

IN   THE   COFFEE-HOUSE   RACHID   HAD   SAT  WITH  THREE 

YOUTHS "  30 

WE    WERE    PRESENTLY    GONE    FROM    THAT    PEACEFUL 

ENCAMPMENT "  38 

EL     ARISH,     THE     HALF-WAY     CITY     OF     THE     CARAVAN 

ROUTE "  50 

THE  CAMEL-TRADER  LEANED  AGAIN  INTO  THE  CANDLE- 
LIGHT    "  64 

A    CHRISTIAN    SYMBOL   MARVELLOUSLY  OUT    OF    PLACE  "  76 
WE    HAD    COME    BY    A    DEVIOUS    WAY    TO   THE    HOME    OF 

THE    POET "  1 10 

MUSA    HALIM,    THE    BLIND    MUSICIAN "  114 

THE    SHOP    OF    THE    FEZ-PRESSER "  Il8 

A  RAGGED  BEDOUIN  FILLING  HIS  GIRBIE  AT  THE  WELL  "  124 

THE    GRAVE    BEDOUIN    DEPARTED "  146 

AHMED    ASED-ULLAH,    THE    WRITER    OF    SCROLLS       .  "  152 

SPECIMEN    OF    WRITING    OF    THE    PERSIAN    SCHOOL         .  "  156 

WE    MADE    OUR    CAMP    BY    THE    WELL "  162 

THE    SHOP    OF    A    TRADER 174 

WE   SAT  DOWN   IN   THE   SAND  AROUND   THE    FIRE  "  206 


GOING  DOWN  FROM  JERUSALEM 


GOING    DOWN     FROM 
JERUSALEM 


THE   SOUL   OF   THE   COBBLER 

WE  entered  Jerusalem  from  the  north — he  whom 
they  called  the  younger  khawaja  and  I — having 
ridden  down  from  Damascus  with  a  small  caravan, 
camping  by  the  way ;  and  a  mean  black  time  it  was, 
this  last  night  of  our  riding,  and  late  of  it,  too — cold 
and  wind-swept  from  the  northwest,  and  black  dark 
and  wet  with  a  pelting  rain  of  that  sour  winter.  I 
recall  no  lights  of  the  city,  no  warm  invitation  from 
afar  to  be  housed,  no  passengers  abroad  on  the  roads, 
but  remember  the  wind  and  thick  night,  the  clatter 
of  hoofs,  the  glum  silence  of  those  servants  and  com- 
panions, a  loose  rein  and  the  splash  and  mud  and 
weariness  of  late  riding.  Presently,  however,  we 
were  well  bestowed  in  a  hostelry  by  the  Jaffa  Gate, 
and  when  the  muleteers  had  fetched  the  bags  from 
the  dripping  pack  animals  below,  we  extracted  the 
carpets  and  tapestries  of  Damascus,  with  which  we 


'EfOW'N    FROM   JERUSALEM 

travelled,  having  learned  the  wisdom  of  it;  and  in 
this  simple  way  we  transformed  the  cold  chamber  into 
a  warm  and  familiar  place,  grateful  to  the  eye  and 
feet  and  spirit,  like  home.  With  a  lusty  fire  buzzing 
in  the  little  porcelain  stove,  and  with  the  mud  and 
sweat  of  travel  washed  off,  and  with  a  supper  of 
savory  things  steaming  on  the  table,  and.  with  the 
beloved  Blue  Rug  and  the  Red  Bokhara  glowing 
in  the  lamplight,  and  with  Aboosh,  that  admirable 
dragoman !  already  tricked  out  in  the  raiment  of  the 
town,  now  grinning  no  more  a  pride  in  his  achieve- 
ment upon  our  poor  travelling  than  a  vain  interest 
in  his  bright  cravat  and  the  angle  of  his  mustache — 
this  withal,  we  looked  back  upon  the  rainy  journey 
with  satisfaction,  recollecting  it  all  in  vast  jollity, 
and  thence  turned  with  expanding  enthusiasm  to 
the  prospect  of  sunnier  riding  southward  beyond 
Beersheba  and  over  the  plains  and  sandy  desert  into 
Egypt  by  the  ancient  caravan  route. 

Thereupon  we  planned  this  new  journey;  and  in 
the  sunshine  of  the  way  (said  we),  we  should  find 
new  delights  of  travel,  and  ease  in  its  isolation  from 
a  swarming  and  distracting  world. 

To  Hebron  and  to  Beersheba,  among  the  pastoral 
Bedouins  to  El  Arish  on  the  shore  of  the  sea,  and 
thence  many  sandy  days  to  the  Suez  Canal  at 
Kantara:  a  placid  and  companionable  journey, 
riding  thus  in  the  grateful  January  weather.  We 
were  presently  on  the  way  toward  these  places.  I 

2 


THE    SOUL    OF    THE    COBBLER 


remember  the  rosy  morning  air,  the  sunlight,  the  blue 
distances  and  greening  fields  of  our  departure  from 
Jerusalem — the  olive-trees  and  stony  barrens,  the 
blithe  patter  of  hoofs,  the  bells  of  the  baggage  mules, 
and  dust  of  our  small  company  on  the  white  road 
beyond,  the  dwindling  towers  and  walls  of  the  sacred 
hills.  I  recall,  too,  the  exhilaration  of  the  hour: 
proceeding  no  more  from  an  errand  into  the  open,  in 
•  expectation  of  mild  adventure,  than  issuing  upon  the 
disappearance  of  all  pitiable  shrines  and  the  spectacle 
of  an  ignorant  adoration  which  had  depressed  our 
spirits. 

We  conceived  the  auguries  favorable  to  a  happy 
progress  in  strange  places;  and  it  pleased  us  in  this 
way  to  make-believe — a  grave  pretence  that  omens, 
as  once  they  had  been,  still  were  large  with  meaning 
to  such  as  took  the  old  road  into  Egypt.  In  a  field 
beyond  Bethlehem  a  new-born  kid  lay  at  the  feet 
of  a  small  shepherd  of  those  hills,  whereby  the 
wonder  of  our  followers  was  excited  to  an  amazing 
garrulity,  for  no  birth  had  ever  before  occurred  at 
their  passing;  and  a  masterless  dog  of  the  city  had 
attached  herself  to  our  adventure,  which  was  a 
happy  omen  (they  said) ,  though,  indeed,  it  presently 
appeared  that  she  was  but  a  friend  of  the  white 
mule,  and  had  come,  not  to  join  fortunes  with  us, 
but  in  the  regular  exercise  of  her  devotion. 

At  the  Jaffa  Gate  a  ragged  Moslem  gray  beard, 
afflicted,  but  held  in  holy  regard  by  the  pious  because 
of  an  illumination  exceeding  wisdom,  had  lifted  his 

3 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

hands  and  muttered  a  vacant  benediction,  including 
us  with  all  the  thronging  world ;  past  the  foot  of  the 
hill  a  band  of  Russian  pilgrims,  toiling  toward  the 
gate  of  their  holy  city,  gave  us  for  our  beggarly 
greeting — worn  souls! — an  abundant  blessing,  best- 
ing us  mightily  in  this  wayside  exchange;  he  that 
calls  himself  John  the  Baptist  having  come  but 
yesterday  from  long  wandering  in  the  wilderness 
beyond  Jordan — hairy,  gaunt,  bare-legged,  and  in 
rags — conveyed  the  Divine  sanction  from  the  shade 
of  an  olive-tree  by  the  way,  whence,  when  the  sun 
was  high  (they  said) ,  he  would  into  the  city,  uplifted 
and  eloquent,  to  proclaim  his  message  to  a  heedless 
generation. 

We  rode  out  in  great  humor  with  the  time  and 
undertaking,  blessed  by  infidel  and  pilgrim,  hermit 
and  fellah,  dusty  travellers  afoot  and  them  that  be- 
strode fine  beasts;  and  this  was  a  curious  and 
heartening  departure. 

That  night  we  lay  at  Hebron. 

Here  is  a  city  of  gentle  situation,  lying  in  a  sunlit 
valley :  a  grape-land,  fertile  and  well  watered  through 
these  ages  since  the  children  of  Israel  first  beheld  it. 
It  is  a  place  of  evil  faith  and  monstrous  reputation; 
the  zeal  of  twenty  thousand  Mohammedans,  grown 
restless,  finds  occasional  vent  in  the  murder  of 
some  wretched  Jew  or  wandering  native  Christian, 
and  is  an  abiding  menace  to  all  travellers  not  of 
Islam. 

4 


THE    SOUL    OF    THE    COBBLER 

"Men,"  the  missionary  shouted  from  his  threshold, 
"no  tent  where  there  is  a  roof!  God  bless  you  all!" 
with  glowing  heartiness;  "come  in.  Made  this 
house  myself,"  he  apologized,  with  a  chuckle,  "and 
it  isn't  finished.  But  never  mind  that;  come  right 
on  in  here  and  be  at  home.  You  are  at  home,"  cried 
he;  and  immediately  gave  over  his  kitchen  to  our 
cook,  which  made  us  guests,  indeed,  of  his  com- 
passion, as  we  were  glad  to  be. 

He  was  a  spare,  eager  young  man,  all  aflash  and 
twinkling  with  vital  love  of  folk,  and  so  abstracted 
with  us  and  uneasy,  because  of  a  habit  of  pre- 
occupation— though  he  rattled  on  with  much  charm 
and  intelligence — that  I  fancied  he  was  forever 
devising  cunning  schemes  to  lure  the  people  to  his 
faith.  Here  dwelt  he,  then,  in  discomfort  and  grave 
isolation,  in  much  real  peril — in  poverty,  doubtless, 
without  hope  of  any  gain — but  was  ingenuously 
proud  of  his  employment. 

"I  tell  you,  men,"  he  declared,  in  conviction  so 
lively  that  I  jumped  and  was  amazed  in  the  presence 
of  it,  "this  work  is  its  own  reward!" 

There  had  been  a  vast  expenditure  of  reasonable 
love  here — of  money  little  enough,  I  think,  so 
mean  a  sum  that  it  mocked  the  wealth  of  the 
churches — but  of  the  strength  of  one  wise  man  its 
all ;  and  I  wondered  concerning  its  visible  return :  not 
in  total  attendance,  neither  in  day-school  progress 
and  behavior,  but  in  the  tale  of  captives  taken  from 
the  hosts  of  Islam,  by  which  the  knight  himself  must 

5 


GOING    DOWN    FROM    JERUSALEM 

measure  his  own  victory.  This  was  no  mean  in- 
tention to  make  divisor  and  dividend  of  souls  and 
cash,  which  may  not  by  any  gracious  heart  be  done, 
nor  was  it  a  narrow  and  cynical  curiosity,  neglecting 
the  ultimate  return,  but  a  simple  traveller's  wonder 
concerning  the  immediate  effect  of  a  rare  conjunc- 
tion of  great  purpose  with  an  impeccable  effi- 
ciency and  a  personality  so  engaging  that  the 
business  of  proselyting  was  here  indulged  above 
the  law. 

"One  soul,"  the  man  answered,  frankly. 

There  was  no  sigh,  no  complaint  or  hopelessness; 
there  was  a  brief  expectation  of  blame,  perhaps, 
to  arise  from  lay  misunderstanding,  but  no  readiness 
to  resent  it,  as  the  missionary  regarded  me  stead- 
fastly. 

"One  soul?"  I  echoed. 

"The  Lord,"  said  he,  brushing  the  hair  from  his 
brow,  "has  given  us — just  one  soul!" 

I  had  not  thought  that  in  all  Hebron  one  man  had 
dared  declare  himself  apostate;  but  the  missionary 
— perceiving  no  triumph — was  now  fallen  into  a 
wistful  muse,  embittered,  no  doubt,  by  some  un- 
just self -accusation. 

"I  think,"  he  added,  diffidently,  looking  up, 
"that  it  is  a  genuine  conversion:  I  think  it  is.  There 
is  a  blood  feud  against  the  man,  and — he  has  laid 
off  his  weapons." 

The  convert  (thought  we)  would  soon  be  num- 
bered with  the  martyrs! 

6 


THE    SOUL    OF    THE    COBBLER 

It  was  the  Sabbath ;  the  sun  was  gone  down,  leav- 
ing the  olive  groves  and  vineyards  in  the  purple 
shadow  of  the  hills.  Under  cover  of  the  dusk,  it 
seemed,  many  men  would  come  to  evening  service. 
"By  the  back  door,"  the  missionary  whispered, 
"they  steal  in,  these  poor  people — on  the  quiet, 
you  understand  ?  dressed  in  rags,  in  disguise,  afraid 
to  be  known.  They  come;  oh  yes — they  come, 
men!"  There  was  a  congregation  of  two  in  the  bare 
little  service-room:  the  convert,  a  weak-eyed  shoe- 
maker, and  his  apprentice.  The  boy  was  restless, 
bored,  timid,  and  flea-bitten;  the  man  snuggled  to 
his  new  faith;  he  was  ecstatically  happy.  But  yet 
he  lived  in  expectation  of  death:  as  how  should  he 
not? — a  damned  and  outcast  apostate,  the  object 
of  a  blood  feud,  who  in  obedience  to  the  new  teach- 
ing (and  of  his  own  notion)  had  put  off  his  weapons 
and  was  become  defenceless  against  his  blood 
enemy  and  the  hatred  of  his  city.  I  remember  him 
as  a  stalwart  fellow,  able,  in  fair  fight,  to  hold  his 
life  against  odds. 

It  was  dark,  and  the  street  was  silent  and  empty, 
when  the  apostate  slunk  away.  Came  then  the 
missionary  to  us,  despondently. 

"Men,"  he  began  at  once,  but  with  distaste,  "the 
Lord  wished  to  humble  us." 

But  why? 

"I — I — boasted,'1  he  stammered,  bitterly;  "and 
only  two  came." 

We  had  forgotten  the  promise  of  numbers. 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

"And,  men,"  the  good  man  concluded,  speaking 
from  the  very  dust  of  humiliation,  "I  —  I  —  am 
humbled!" 

Presently,  however,  and  with  better  heart,  he  told 
us  of  sundry  healings  by  prayer,  and,  after  that,  of  a 
gracious  miracle  worked  in  his  behalf.  "It  hap- 
pened, men,"  he  related,  "on  the  road  from  Beer- 
sheba,  at  midsummer.  It  was  hot.  I  tell  you, 
men,  it  was  hot!  No  sign  of  rain — dry  midsummer. 
You  don't  expect  clouds  at  midsummer,  do  you? — 
nothing  short  of  a  miracle,  as  it  were,  could  produce 
them.  And  I  couldn't  stand  the  sun.  No,  men;  I 
just  couldn't!  I  knew  I  couldn't  live  another  day 
without  relief.  So  I  thought  I'd  tell  the  Lord  all 
about  it.  Just  tell  Him  frankly,  you  know,  and  de- 
pend upon  Him.  And  I  did:  just  got  right  down 
on  my  knees  that  night,  men,  and  told  Him  what  I 
thought.  'Lord,'  said  I,  'I  can't  stand  it.  I  would 
if  I  could;  but  I  just  can't.  You'll  have  to  save  me 
—you'll  have  to  do  it,  Lord — or  I'll  perish  right 
here  in  the  wilderness.'  And  next  day,  men,  a 
little  cloud  covered  the  sun — no  bigger  than  a  man's 
hand.  A  little  cloud — at  midsummer!  It  didn't 
move  away,  remember:  just  hung  right  there,  all  day 
between  the  sun  and  me.  And  my  life  was  saved. 
Now,"  he  demanded,  "what  do  you  think  of  that?" 

That  a  little  cloud  had  intervened. 

"I  tell  you,  men,"  the  missionary  declared,  in 
pathetic  bewilderment,  "I  believe  the  Lord  heard 
me — that  time!" 

8 


THE    SOUL    OF    THE    COBBLER 

We  were  given  Godspeed  in  the  olive  grove,  as  we 
rode  away,  soon  after  dawn;  and  we  keep  the  man 
in  faith  and  in  affection.  He  is  a  good  man,  a 
devoted  and  efficient  man  in  his  profession,  and 
most  tender. 


II 

CONCERNING      THE      WORLD      IN      THIS      BLUE      SPACE 


E^TE  of  that  afternoon  we  came  to  Edh  Da- 
hariyeh,  a  village  of  the  Bedouins  who  till  the 
rich  plains  beyond  Hebron  and  there  dwell  in  peace 
and  in  submission:  both  peace  and  submission  be- 
ing contemptible  to  the  war-like  tribes  of  the  great 
desert  to  the  east,  who  successfully  resist  all  author- 
ity. The  people  of  the  fields  are  much  oppressed: 
the  burden  is  of  taxation;  three  thousand  dollars 
are  yearly  extracted  from  a  population  of  eight 
hundred  men,  women,  and  children,  but  leave  no 
pennyworth  of  benefit  to  solace  the  ravished  com- 
munity. When  the  crops  begin  to  spring  and  the 
flocks  give  promise,  a  Turkish  assessor  rides  from 
Hebron,  and  upon  every  man  levies  according  to  the 
utmost  power  of  that  man  to  pay,  so  that  some  let 
their  land  lie  fallow,  and  some,  at  news  of  his  com- 
ing, slaughter  their  animals,  rather  than  suffer  an 
excessive  extortion.  The  village  is  itself  but  a 
jumble  of  listless  earthen  huts,  risen  on  a  mound  of 
its  own  refuse  and  ruins.  Beneath  the  homes  of 
this  time  are  the  forgotten  chambers  of  the  fore- 
fathers. 

10 


THE    WORLD    IN    THIS    BLUE    SPACE 

While  the  tents  were  rising  on  the  common — a 
sweep  of  clean  and  close-cropped  green — we  came  to 
the  guest-room,  as  all  good  travellers  must,  or  live 
ill-mannered,  arrogant  fellows  in  the  recollection  of 
these  punctilious  folk.  Here  was  a  hospitable 
refuge  for  wanderers  of  whatsoever  degree,  free  to 
them,  to  sleep  and  pass  on,  unquestioned,  or  for 
three  days  to  tarry,  guests  of  the  tribe :  an  admirable 
and  saving  custom  of  these  parts.  It  was  a  dark 
and  stagnant  interior — a  black  shadow  under  the 
vaulted  roof,  I  recall,  into  which  a  dusty  sunbeam 
intruded  through  a  high  slit  in  the  wall — but  was 
now  comfortably  aglow  at  the  coffee  fire,  where  two 
ragged  old  men,  whose  turn  it  was  (at  the  sheik's 
behest)  to  provide  the  travellers  refreshment,  were 
nursing  the  coals,  in  some  ill  humor.  There  was  a 
good  company  squatting  about  in  expectation  of 
our  coming ;  and  they  gave  us  es-saldm  'aleikum  in  no 
heartening  fashion,  but  led  us  to  the  high  seat, 
which  they  distinguished  for  us  by  spreading  an 
abba  taken  from  the  back  of  a  young  man. 

Then  came  the  sheik,  swaggering  from  the  sun- 
light— a  glum,  impatient  old  man,  tattooed  on  the 
tip  of  his  nose,  now  wry-mouthed  and  out  of  sorts, 
wearing  a  blue  abba  of  quality,  all  his  garments  soft 
and  proudly  flowing;  but  yet  he  was  a  man  of  no 
account,  save  here. 

The  ceremonial  three  cups  of  coffee  were  served 
to  us  in  awkward  silence. 

"Now,"  the  sheik  demanded,  on  the  heels  of 

ii 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

the  last  gulp,  "why  have  you  slighted  our  hos- 
pitality?" 

"We  have  pitched  our  tents,"  I  protested,  "on 
your  common." 

"It  is  true,"  he  rejoined;  "but  you  mock  us." 

"What  mockery,"  I  asked,  angrily,  "is  there  in 
this?" 

"You  ride  down  to  Egypt,"  he  replied.  "It  is  a 
great  journey.  You  will  lie  here  and  there  by  the 
way;  and  they  will  say  to  you:  'How  fared  you  at 
Edh  Dahariyeh?  Did  they  take  you  in — at  Edh 
Dahariyeh?  Did  they  kill  a  sheep — at  Edh  Da- 
hariyeh?' You  will  answer:  'They  did  not  kill  a 
sheep  at  Edh  Dahariyeh ;  they  left  us  to  sleep  in  the 
open — at  Edh  Dahariyeh.'  No  traveller,"  the  sheik 
boasted,  but  with  what  truth  I  know  not,  "lacks 
entertainment  at  Edh  Dahariyeh.  We  are  able  to 
kill  a  sheep  every  day.  Had  you  sent  word  of  your 
coming,  I  would  have  had  you  to  my  house ;  but  your 
mules  came  without  warning,  and  your  servants 
began  to  pitch  your  tents.  We  shall  be  laughed  at 
for  mean  men  from  Edh  Dahariyeh  to  Egypt." 

The  man,  it  seemed,  would  yet  have  us  conscripts 
of  his  pride,  and  house  us  in  his  flea-run  dwelling; 
and  in  the  alarm  of  this  prospect  I  turned  to  Aboosh 
—that  admirable  interpreter  and  guide. 

"Ephraim,"  said  I,  firmly,  "the  man  must  be 
diverted.  Ask  him  if  the  world  is  round  or  flat." 

The  diversion  was  effected :  moreover — a  sensation. 

"  If  the  world  is  flat,"  was  the  response,  after  some 

12 


THE    WORLD    IN    THIS    BLUE    SPACE 

heavy  pondering,  "  I  am  content;  if  it  is  round,  it  is 
round  by  God's  wisdom." 

The  men  in  the  guest-room  softly  applauded.  It 
was  a  characteristic  thing:  an  evasion  is  with  them 
equal  to  an  answer.  They  drew  nearer  now,  scent- 
ing a  discussion  of  natural  philosophy;  and  an  ex- 
pectant silence  fell.  They  had  forgotten  the  offence 
against  the  hospitality  of  their  tribe. 

"  Answer  me  this,"  said  the  sheik:  "how  is  the 
world  supported  in  this  blue  space?" 

"The  world,"  I  answered,  cunningly,  "depends 
upon  the  thread  of  God's  will." 

It  was  a  siifficient  answer :  curiosity  dared  proceed 
no  further;  an  inquiry  beyond  the  comfortable  ex- 
planation of  God's  will  would  be  impiety. 

There  came  shuffling  to  the  tent  at  evening  a 
ragged  Bedouin  with  an  ancient  gold  coin  which 
he  had  ploughed  out  of  the  ground  of  that  neigh- 
borhood. This  was  when  the  sky  was  red  with  sun- 
set light  and  the  village  boys  were  idly  switching 
the  flocks  across  the  common.  We  would  not  buy 
his  treasure,  having  no  wish  to  possess  it ;  but  indeed 
he  pleaded  until  it  seemed  we  must  indulge  him. 
"I  am  a  poor  man,"  said  he,  "with  neither  flocks 
nor  family,  and  this  gold  coin  is  all  that  I  have  in 
the  world.  No  rich  travellers  pass  this  way;  but 
yet  I  must  sell  my  coin,  because  I  propose  a  journey, 
and  I  must  sell  it  secretly  lest  the  proceeds  be  taken 
away  from  me.  It  is  my  wish  to  escape  into  Egypt 
before  I  am  called  for  service  in  the  army  and  sent 

13 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

into  the  south  to  die ;  and  so  I  will  exchange  my  coin 
for  a  coin  of  equal  weight — a  mere  napoleon." 

The  exchange  was  managed,  with  something 
added  to  delight  and  surprise  the  man;  and  he 
shuffled  away. 

"He  is  not  like  the  bookseller  of  Damascus,"  said 
the  younger  khawaja. 

I  laughed  to  recall  that  avaricious  graybeard  and 
his  musty  storehouse  by  the  Great  Mosque. 


Ill 

A    BOOKSELLER   OF   DAMASCUS 

THE  bookseller  of  Damascus,  whose  bargaining 
the  younger  khawaja  remembered,  was  a 
very  old  man — gray-bearded,  scrawny-necked,  pal- 
lid as  an  invalid,  marvellously  thin,  bent  at  the 
shoulders,  but  dressed  in  a  rich,  fur-lined,  perfectly 
tailored  gown  of  gray  cloth,  and  keen  and  bright  of 
eye,  though  most  calculating  and  avaricious:  the 
eldest  son  (they  said)  of  three  generations  of  book- 
sellers from  that  same  stall  in  the  bazar  of  the  book- 
sellers. He  was  in  an  unexpectedly  amiable  mood, 
it  chanced,  on  the  rainy  day  when  the  Interpreter 
and  I  fell  in  with  him  by  his  shop,  beyond  which, 
through  a  little  gate,  some  glimpse  was  to  be  had  of 
the  great  court-yard  of  the  Mosque,  the  marble 
tiles  glistening  in  the  rain  and  light  of  the  open  sky. 
He  would  not  only  show  us  the  books,  but  would 
deal  with  us,  happily  found  we  that  which  we  desired 
to  buy.  And  so,  but  lackadaisically,  manifesting 
infinite  boredom,  he  went  with  us,  candle  in  hand, 
to  his  storehouse,  which  we  must  enter  hurriedly,  as 
though  spied  upon.  This  was  up  the  steps,  a  turn 
to  the  right,  an  elbowing  progress  through  the  tide- 


GOING    DOWN   FROM   JERUSALEM 

rip  of  humanity,  and  some  yards  of  easier  advance- 
ment to  a  low  stone  door,  unlocked  with  a  gigantic 
key.  Ushered  into  uttermost  darkness,  we  were 
provided  with  candles,  told  to  search,  and  in- 
continently left  to  ourselves. 

"Here,"  declared  the  Interpreter,  "is  an  amazing 
thing!" 

"But  why?"  I  inquired. 

"The  man  has  left  no  servant  to  spy  upon  us. 
We  must  beware,"  he  added;  "there  is  an  object  in 
this." 

In  this  storehouse — it  seemed  a  vast  place  by  the 
little  light  of  one  candle — reposed  the  accumulations 
of  three  generations  of  acquisitive  booksellers  of 
Damascus,  drawn  not  only  from  the  cities  of  Syria 
and  Egypt,  but,  as  it  soon  appeared,  from  Persia  as 
well,  where  books  were  anciently  well  made.  No 
cry  of  traffic  could  penetrate  the  heavy  door;  it  was 
very  still  within,  and  lifeless,  and  aged,  and  musty. 
The  floor  was  deep  in  dust;  and  every  book  that  was 
touched — every  leaf  that  was  stirred — gave  off  each 
its  little  puff.  The  floor  was  littered,  the  corners 
heaped,  the  shelves  crowded:  many  thousands  of 
volumes  had  here  been  cast  and  forgotten — acquired 
and  held  possessed  in  the  Mohammedan  way.  I 
recall  great  books,  written  upon  parchment  by  skil- 
ful hands,  long,  long  ago,  exquisitely  illuminated  and 
bound — a  long,  ill-kept  row  of  these,  so  thick  with 
black  dust,  which  had  even  sifted  between  the  leaves, 
that  I  fancied  they  had  not  been  touched  in  a  hun- 

16 


A    BOOKSELLER    OF    DAMASCUS 

dred  years.  Presently  I  came  upon  many  covers  of 
antique  tomes,  gold-leafed  and  deeply  tooled  and 
beautified  with  slender  flourishes — all  stripped  from 
the  original  books,  which  had  been  rebound  for  sale. 
Near  by  a  crazy  stair — cluttered  with  books — which 
led  perilously  to  the  loft,  was  a  collection  of  little  vol- 
umes, in  dusty  heaps  on  a  high  shelf :  thin  little  books, 
delicately  written  by  hand  and  as  delicately  illumina- 
ted ;  some  poetry,  I  recall,  and  some  pious  discussions. 

I  fell  in  love  with  one  (as  they  say) — the  tints 
and  interlacing  lines  and  gilding  of  the  title-page, 
all  masterfully  accomplished,  enduring  to  this  time 
without  a  faded  color  or  other  blemish. 

"This  little  book,"  said  the  Interpreter,  presently, 
"is  a  collection  of  philosophical  poems,  more  than 
one  hundred  years  old,  composed  (as  here  is  written) 
by  the  talented  daughter  of  a  certain  learned,  wise, 
famous,  and  wealthy  prince;  but  the  name  of  the 
scribe  is  omitted." 

"Then,"  said  I,  "here  is  a  story:  The  beautiful 
daughter  of  the  prince,  exercising  her  talent  in  his 
delight,  had  these  poems  inscribed  by  a  master,  and 
presented  them  to  her  father  to  win  his  praise." 

"  It  may  be  so,"  he  agreed. 

"But,"  I  protested,  "it  is  indeed  so;  there  is  no 
other  copy  in  all  the  wide  world." 

"That,"  said  he,  s<is  undoubtedly  true." 

As  the  Interpreter  bent  with  me  over  the  volume, 
translating,  we  were  interrupted  by  a  soft,  asthmatic 
wheeze ;  and  I  turned  with  a  start  to  find  the  pallid 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

bookseller  at  my  very  shoulder,  his  head  thrust  for- 
ward— his  scrawny  beard,  drawn  cheeks,  and  avari- 
cious eyes.  He  had  come  softly  to  spy  upon  us,  as 
he  had  intended  when  he  left  us  alone;  and  having 
in  this  way  discovered  our  real  desire,  was  prepared 
to  exact  the  value  of  it  to  the  last  franc.  At  once  we 
bargained  for  the  book ;  the  Interpreter  gleefully  sus- 
tained the  argument,  but  was  in  a  state  of  wrath 
and  perspiration  when  at  last  the  money  was  paid 
down,  and  had  no  good  word  to  say  for  the  book- 
seller in  English.  For  my  bargain  (since  in  Damas- 
cus bargaining,  is  a  polite  accomplishment)  I  will  say 
this:  that  next  day,  when  I  causally  exposed  the 
book  in  an  antique-shop  much  frequented  by  tourists 
in  the  season,  the  dealer  thrust  his  hand  into  his 
money-drawer  and  cast  to  the  counter,  from  a  hand- 
ful of  gold,  three  times  the  sum  I  had  paid;  but  I 
would  not  take  him  up. 

I  still  carried  the  book  in  my  hand  when  we  came 
to  the  door  of  the  bookseller's  storehouse,  but  was 
then  all  at  once  seized  violently  by  the  arm,  smartly 
chided,  and  charged  to  conceal  the  volume  (the 
bookseller  having  first  kissed  it)  until  we  were  well 
departed  from  the  neighborhood. 

"This  virtuous  Mohammedan,"  the  Interpreter 
explained  with  contempt,  "will  not  sell  holy  books 
to  Christians — when  anybody  is  looking." 

I  indulged  the  old  man's  scruples  by  concealing 
the  book;  and  we  were  then  ushered  into  the  street 
in  the  most  friendly  and  innocent  fashion  in  the  world. 

18 


IN      THE      MARKET-PLACE 


A    BOOKSELLER    OF    DAMASCUS 

"What  is  the  occasion  of  the  man's  secrecy?" 
I  asked,  presently.  "Has  he  broken  the  law  in  this 
transaction?" 

"He  has  broken  the  law,  of  course,"  the  Inter- 
preter replied;  "but  that  is  nothing  in  itself.  The 
thing  is  important  only  if  it  be  discovered  by  an 
enemy  more  powerful  than  he.  Not  long  ago  in  this 
street  of  the  booksellers,"  he  continued,  as,  departing 
from  that  quarter,  we  paused  at  the  entrance  of  the 
bazar,  "a  Mohammedan  of  upright  character  and 
pious  and  honorable  life  earned  a  slender  livelihood 
by  means  of  the  binding  and  sale  of  books  of  un- 
impeachable loyalty  to  Mohammed  and  the  Sultan. 
He  was  an  inoffensive  person,  past  middle  age,  un- 
accused  of  crime,  living,  doubtless,  in  expectation 
of  a  peaceful  death  in  this  guileful  and  envious  city, 
breathing  no  sedition,  dealing  for  fair  profit,  reciting 
the  prayers  at  the  appointed  intervals,  in  every 
way  observing  the  forms  of  his  religion  and  practising 
the  spirit  of  it.  It  chanced,  however,  that  he  won 
the  enmity  of  a  neighbor,  a  man  of  power  and  wealth, 
who  would  take  his  ease  on  the  roof  and  ogle  the 
bookseller's  youngest  wife  whenever  she  appeared, 
so  that  presently,  so  persistent  was  the  offence,  she 
might  never  breathe  the  air  except  through  the 
meshes  of  a  black  veil,  not  even  in  the  privacy  of  her 
own  roof.  From  this  wicked  infatuation,  of  course, 
resulted  the  poor  booskeller's  destruction.  It  seems 
that  at  the  same  time  that  he  was  expecting  a  con- 
signment of  books  from  Cairo,  his  eldest  son,  by 

19 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

another  wife,  was  about  to  return  from  America, 
being  in  ill  health  and  about  to  die.  When  it  came 
time  for  the  young  man  and  the  books  to  arrive  at 
Beirut,  the  covetous  neighbor  caused  to  be  included 
with  the  books  certain  volumes  of  a  violently  sedi- 
tious teaching,  and  to  be  discovered  in  the  luggage 
of  the  son  certain  offensive  drawings  of  the  Sultan 
himself.  The  neighbor  was  a  man  of  wealth  and 
influence,  and  in  consequence  the  thing  was  not 
difficult  to  manage. 

"'But,'  cried  the  poor  bookseller,  when  he  was 
accused,  *  I  did  not  order  the  books!  * 

"'Nevertheless,'  they  answered,  'here  are  the  for- 
bidden volumes  in  the  bale.' 

"'These  papers,'  the  son  protested,  *I  have  never 
seen  before!' 

' '  Ah,'  they  answered,  '  but  we  have  found  them  in 
your  trunk.' 

"The  result  was,"  the  Interpreter  concluded, 
"  that  father  and  son  were  cast  into  prison.  The  son 
languished  and  died,  but  the  father  was  liberated 
when  the  Turks  had  sucked  his  fortune  from  him. 
I  have  not  seen  the  man  for  a  very  long  time." 

"And  the  young  wife?"  I  inquired. 

"Really,"  the  Interpreter  replied,  "I  do  not  know 
what  became  of  her." 

I  wondered — perhaps  unkindly — how  the  covet- 
ous neighbor  had  been  made  aware  of  the  poor  book- 
seller's most  intimate  affairs. 


IV 

IN   CAMP   AT   BEERSHEBA 

WE  came  to  Beersheba  from  Edh  Dahariyeh  next 
day,  in  a  windstorm,  a  driving  gale,  the  horses 
lagging  dispirited.  The  air  was  parching  and  misty 
with  dust  blown  in  from  the  wilderness ;  and  some  idle 
old  wiseacres,  loitering  near,  said  that  all  travellers  in 
the  sandy  desert  would  be  in  peril.  It  is  a  mush- 
room trading  settlement,  for  these  six  years  a  strug- 
gling market-place ;  they  had  digged  up  the  ruins  of 
the  ancient  city  to  make  new  habitations:  a  turn  of 
the  spade,  and  here  are  the  squared  blocks  of  fallen 
palaces  ready  to  hand.  The  kaimakam  said  that 
we  must  ride  thence  to  Gaza  on  our  way  to  El 
Arish,  or  ride  no  farther  on  our  journey,  lest  we  come 
to  harm  on  the  plains,  where,  said  he,  were  many 
Bedouins  and  no  familiar  paths.  "Everybody," 
said  this  timid  man,  "rides  to  Gaza,  and  therefore 
must  you.  If  you  took  the  path  of  your  choosing, 
and  met  with  evil  treatment,  how  should  I  escape?" 
We  would  not  buy  his  acquiescence  (were  that  his 
meaning) ,  but  quietly  planned  to  depart  in  the  early 
morning,  choosing  the  shorter  way  to  the  half-way 
station  of  Rafieh,  which  was  to  our  liking. 

21 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

There  at  Beersheba  are  Abraham's  wells;  and  this 
being  the  very  frontier  of  the  hardiest  tourist  wan- 
derings— the  farthest  objective  of  all  those  devoted 
pilgrimages  which  astound  and  disquiet  the  simple 
traveller — we  determined  that  our  departure  thence 
upon  the  untrodden  ways  into  Egypt  should  in  some 
meet  way  be  signalized.  It  was  no  flagrant  ex- 
pression of  distaste  for  trip-ticket  company,  which, 
in  Palestine,  whatever  elsewhere,  is  somehow  pecul- 
iarly grateful  even  to  the  hapless  apostate  (as  I  have 
been  told) — like  the  sweet  simplicity  of  children. 
Our  small  celebration  should  be  like  a  saucy  snap 
of  the  ringers  directed  at  whatsoever  had  been  irk- 
some or  fearful  or  bewildering  in  the  lives  we  had 
lived;  here,  at  last  (thought  we),  was  the  road  be- 
yond— free  and  still,  leading  far  and  strangely: 
upon  which  no  disturbing  word  might  follow  from 
any  yesterday. 

AH  Mahmoud,  the  big  muleteer,  acquainted  with 
the  khawaja's  convivial  intention,  instantly  proposed 
a  sheep,  tender  with  youth  and  the  new  grass  of 
those  green  hills,  to  be  boiled  with  rice  in  a  great 
copper  pot,  which  the  cook  must  borrow  from  the 
town,  and  sauced  with  curry,  to  which  the  khawaja's 
excellency  might  add  sour  pickles,  were  his  generos- 
ity only  sufficient  to  that  altitude  of  magnificence. 
Presently,  thereafter,  the  cook  slaughtered  a  sheep 
in  the  street,  operating  with  gravity,  in  the  presence 
of  a  covetous  throng.  I  fancied,  looking  about  upon 
all  those  desirous  eyes  and  uneasy  lips  and  tongues, 

22 


IN    CAMP    AT    BEERSHEBA 

that  the  inward  clamor  of  Beersheba  would  be  a 
tumult  had  I  the  ears  to  hear  it. 

The  carcass  was  shouldered  into  camp,  however, 
in  peace,  and  promptly  packed  away  in  the  pot, 
which  Ali  Mahmoud  had  himself  wrested  from  a 
solitary  Bedouin  encamped  near  by,  having  satis- 
fied the  wretched  man,  after  loud  browbeating,  with 
a  mere  promise  of  reward,  in  the  persuasive  Syrian 
way. 

I  observed  while  we  waited  that  the  younger 
khawaja  was  industriously  employed  with  a  pencil 
and  paper. 

"  This,"  said  he,  looking  up  at  last,  "is  New- Year's 
eve?" 

"How  do  you  know  it?"  I  demanded. 

"  I  have  figured  it  out,"  he  answered,  triumphantly. 

Here,  then,  was  reasonable  occasion :  I  substituted 
it  for  that  sentimental  consideration  which  had  in- 
spired our  feast,  and  was  the  more  at  ease  for  having 
my  feet  upon  such  solid  ground. 

It  was  bitterly  dark  abroad  when  the  admirable 
Aboosh  fetched  us  to  complete  the  squatting  circle 
of  muleteers  and  camp  servants  in  the  cook's  tent. 
The  wind  was  blowing  high  from  the  stony  wilder- 
ness of  Beersheba — that  vast  dread  barren — and  the 
rain  was  driving  past  in  noisy  showers;  but  the  tent 
was  warm  and  light  with  many  candles,  the  flap  was 
pegged  tight  against  the  wet  draught,  the  feast  was 
spread  fragrant  and  bounteously,  and  the  company 
3  23 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

was  of  excellent  humor  and  many  jovial  accom- 
plishments. The  younger  khawaja,  expanding  after 
meat,  would  exhibit  the  magic  stick  at  pleasure  (said 
he);  and  this  he  moved  to  do,  but  found  no  stick 
at  hand,  save  the  donkey-stick  of  the  young  impish 
Hamed,  which  he  must  magically  convert  into  a  stick 
of  that  magical  quality  demanded  by  the  feat. 

It  was  not  a  difficult  thing  to  do:  the  younger 
khawaja  had  in  the  seclusion  of  his  tent  suspended  a 
black  thread  from  knee  to  knee,  so  that,  squatting 
behind  the  candle-light,  with  the  thread  drawn 
taut,  he  was  enabled  to  persuade  the  very  donkey- 
stick  of  Hamed  to  stand  upright  between  his  legs, 
without  the  support  of  so  much  as  a  finger-tip,  like 
any  stick  of  indubitably  magical  pedigree  and  power. 
Search  as  they  might  for  the  magical  means  com- 
manded by  the  younger  khawaja,  they  could  not  see 
the  thread,  against  which  the  stick  leaned.  The 
thing  remained  a  mystery;  and  in  return  for  this 
amazing  exhibition,  Ali  Mahmoud,  vaingloriously 
bristling  his  red  stubble  of  beard,  said  that  he  would 
then  entertain  the  company  by  relating  the  most 
humorous  story  ever  known  to  have  slipped  from 
the  tongue  of  any  inventor  of  tales  since  the  very 
world  began,  called  by  those  Bedouins  of  far  Nejd 
"The  Tale  of  the  Camel  which  Flew." 

It  was  a  successful  adventure  for  Ali  Mahmoud: 
from  Elias  of  Jerusalem,  the  cook's  boy,  to  the  ex- 
quisite Aboosh  himself,  they  were  by  turns  all  en- 
wrapped and  shaken  with  laughter;  and  I  wish  that 

24 


IN    CAMP    AT    BEERSHEBA 


I  might  repeat  the  story,  but  am  unable,  for  Aboosh 
softly  informed  me,  when  1  demanded  the  inter- 
pretation, that  the  English  language,  being  some- 
what inadequate  in  respect  to  double  meanings, 
made  it  impossible  for  him  to  convey  the  delectable 
indelicacy  of  the  tale  in  any  chaste  form. 

"It  is  the  way,"  said  he,  by  way  of  apology,  his 
eye  speculatively  regarding  me,  "  with  many  charm- 
ing Bedouin  tales." 

I  made  no  demand  upon  his  modesty. 

"  They  may  be  told  in  Arabic,"  he  continued,  with 
relief,  "but  not  even  thought  of  in  English." 

Having  now  feasted  heartily,  we  had  accomplished 
little  enough,  after  all,  upon  the  body  of  that  sheep ; 
there  remained  fragments. 

"Are  there  no  hungry  hereabout?"  I  asked. 

The  cook  discovered  seven  patient  Bedouins  of 
that  wilderness  waiting  in  the  rain. 

"To  whomsoever  will  eat,"  said  I. 

A  curious  thing  happened :  The  seven  came  gravely 
to  share  our  beneficence,  with  neither  bristling  of 
pride  nor  lessening  of  it,  without  fawning,  envy,  or 
awkwardness,  with  no  appearance  of  hatred  or  de- 
meaning humility,  but  proceeding,  in  all  things,  as 
with  propriety.  Here  (thought  I)  were  late  guests 
at  our  table;  and  I  must,  somehow,  exchange  the 
polite  expressions  with  them  before  they  ate  of 
that  which  was  left,  lest  I  suffer  in  that  dignity 
and  munificence  which  all  these  folk  conceived  me 
to  possess.  It  was  agreeable,  indeed,  to  encounter 

25 


GOING    DOWN    FROM    JERUSALEM 

those  who  might  without  offence  receive  the  crumbs 
from  our  table.  Elsewhere  (I  am  told) — in  those 
places  where  independence  is  the  fashionable  estate 
— this  may  not  be  done:  it  seems  that  none  is  per- 
mitted to  take  bounty  and  live  respected,  nor  are 
many  able  to  dispense  it  without  pride;  there  are 
the  needy  and  the  beneficent,  but  inharmoniously 
related. 


V 

A    WAYSIDE   MINSTREL 

WE  were  astir  before  dawn,  moving  with  some 
contemptuous  caution,  to  outwit  the  kaimakam, 
who  had  forbidden  our  departure  toward  the  plains. 
It  was  still  raining;  but  the  great  wind  of  yesterday, 
which  had  distressed  our  beasts,  was  now  fallen 
away,  and  the  showers  came  gently  from  the  vanish- 
ing shadows  roundabout.  At  peep  of  day  the  sky 
beyond  the  farthest  outline  of  the  hills  gave  rosy 
promise;  and  it  was  all  warm  and  yellow  in  the 
world  when  we  came  to  the  fertile  plateau  beyond 
Beersheba.  The  new  corn,  springing  after  rain, 
glistened  in  the  sunlight,  stretching  from  the  sandy 
paths  we  rode  to  the  haze  of  distance  and  the  blue 
loom  of  some  great  hills;  and  over  this  illimitable 
field  ran  the  shadows  of  great  flying  masses  of  cloud 
—here  a  clear  shadow  and  there  a  far-off  streaming 
shower  of  rain.  There  was  a  traveller  to  the  wretch- 
ed town,  carrying  grain  on  the  back  of  his  camel, 
who  passed  timidly,  but  with  some  pleasant  saluta- 
tion, albeit  uttered  haltingly;  there  were  shy  shep- 
herds by  the  way,  with  staves  and  pipes,  who,  lack- 
ing courage  to  gaze,  fled  with  the  sheep  at  our 

27 


GOING    DOWN    FROM    JERUSALEM 

approach ;  but  there  was  no  other  human,  it  seemed, 
to  encounter,  though  we  espied  the  black  tents  and 
morning  fires  of  the  pastoral  Bedouins  of  those  parts. 
We  basked  in  the  ease  and  comfortable  heat  of  our 
journey,  riding  idly,  with  reins  fallen ;  since  we  might 
encamp  at  pleasure,  no  need  commanded  us;  re- 
mained to  us  unimpaired  what  will  we  had  and  all 
the  hours  of  day.  The  caravan  dawdled  after:  I 
caught  ear  of  the  lazy  "Dee-up!"  of  Hamed  to  his 
donkey,  the  laughter  of  Ali  Mahmoud,  the  chatter  of 
the  cook  and  the  muleteers,  the  bells  of  our  mules. 
These  were  grateful  sounds,  indeed,  come  from  a 
mellowing  distance  to  the  sunshine  and  wide  pros- 
pect of  earth  and  cloudy  sky. 

It  was  a  pleasant  thing  (thought  I)  to  travel  thus 
in  spring  weather. 

Presently  we  were  in  the  way  of  overtaking  a 
traveller  whose  curious  behavior  I  had  from  time  to 
time  remarked.  He  was  a  furtive  fellow,  going  afoot, 
who  would  now  make  haste,  now  loiter,  now  pause 
without  occasion,  all  the  while  keeping  watch  upon 
us  over  his  shoulder.  It  appeared  as  we  drew  near 
that  he  wore  neither  the  kaffiyeh  nor  abba — the  head- 
dress and  enveloping  cloak — of  those  wandering  folk 
of  the  deserts  and  outlying  fields,  but  was  clad  in  the 
skirt  and  jacket  of  the  wall  (as  they  say),  his  head 
bound  about  with  a  limp  white  cloth.  It  was  a 
circumstance  to  excite  the  wonder  of  any  man. 

"Here  is  no  Bedouin,"  said  I. 

28 


A   WAYSIDE    MINSTREL 

"Nor  an  Egyptian  returning  to  Cairo,"  replied 
Aboosh,  who  rode  with  me.  "This  is  a  Moham- 
medan of  some  Syrian  town." 

"At  any  rate,"  said  I,  "he  travels  to  Egypt." 

"It  is  some  poor  fool,"  Aboosh  declared,  in  pity, 
"  who  will  surely  perish  in  the  desert  between." 

"Where  there  is  a  Mohammedan,"  said  I,  "there 
is  charity." 

"  In  that  desert,"  he  answered,  now  fallen  deep  in 
troubled  concern  for  the  adventurer,  "there  is  no 
compassion." 

"Where  there  is  hunger,"  I  insisted,  "  there  is  com- 
passion among  Mohammedans." 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  little  twinkle  of  sophistica- 
tion. "And  thirst?"  he  asked. 

"Truly,"  I  answered,  doubtfully. 

' '  You  may  think  so, "  said  he,  with  a  grim  little  laugh. 

We  were  now  upon  the  heels  of  the  gentleman, 
whom  we  hailed  authoritatively;  and  he  turned  in 
response,  overwilling  to  be  bidden  to  this  intimacy. 
He  was  a  youth — a  jovial,  ragged,  irreverent  rogue 
(I  observed),  now  upon  his  mettle,  if  ever  a  quick 
brown  eye  betrayed  the  truth.  Aboosh  exchanged 
words  with  him;  and  thereupon,  to  my  amazement, 
the  admirable  dragoman  instantly  burst  into  laugh- 
ter, which  continued  until  he  was  perilously  situated 
upon  his  horse.  I  had  not  expected  laughter:  I 
had  looked  for  a  frowning  countenance — some  ac- 
cusation and  fatherly  solicitude.  "He  is  a  rascal!" 
Aboosh  explained  (meaning  a  comical  fellow).  It 

29 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

seemed,  indeed,  that  he  was;  there  were  more  words, 
more  laughter — but  yet  the  same  calculating  twinkle 
in  the  brown  eyes  afoot.  I  perceived  a  rhythm  in 
the  young  man's  talk,  a  rhyme,  too — a  sweet  and 
tender  agreement  of  sounds — and  I  surmised  that  he 
was  improvising:  which  turned  out  to  be  true;  he 
had  taken,  as  I  learned  at  the  end  of  our  journey,  the 
trailing  caravan,  the  luxuriously  riding  dragoman, 
and  the  awkwardness  of  the  gray-haired  khawaja 
for  the  subject  of  some  sarcastic  versification.  But 
I  did  not  know  it  then :  I  was  at  the  time  interested 
to  observe  that  he  was  young  and  unprovided,  pict- 
uresquely lacking  in  every  precaution,  and  of  a 
jovial  disposition — expecting  the  gifts  of  the  gods, 
it  seemed,  in  return  for  this  ready-flowing  wit:  a 
ragged,  helpless,  most  sanguine  traveller,  depending 
upon  the  chances  of  the  road  for  sustenance  and  all 
the  comfort  of  companionship.  I  fancy  that  his 
rhymes  had  been  fashioned  to  enrapture  the  ex- 
cellent Aboosh  while  the  desperate  poet  awaited  our 
approach  over  the  wet  alien  plains. 

"  I  am  Rachid,"  said  he,  in  answer  to  my  question, 
"a  coffee-maker  of  Jerusalem,  last  employed  by 
David's  Gate." 

"What  do  you,"  I  asked,  " alone  upon  these  far 
plains?" 

"I  travel  into  Egypt." 

1 '  It  is  a  journey,"  said  I, "  perilous  to  a  lonely  man." 

"Who    travels   in    good    company,"    he    replied, 
"travels  securely  and  in  plenty." 

3° 


IN  THE   COFFEE-HOUSE   RACHID   HAD   SAT  WITH 
THREE  YOUTHS 


A    WAYSIDE    MINSTREL 

"What  company  awaits  you?" 

"  I  ask  no  better,"  he  answered,  touching  his  lips 
and  forehead,  "than  the  company  of  the  khawaja's 
excellency." 

"  Come!"  said  I,  delighted,  "  I  will  hear  your  story." 

We  rode  on,  at  a  foot  pace,  with  Rachid  abreast. 
It  seemed  that  in  the  coffee-house  by  David's  Gate 
this  Rachid  had  not  long  since  sat  with  three  youths 
of  the  town.  " Come!"  said  one;  "how  shall  a  young 
man  fare  in  Egypt?"  "It  is  beyond  doubt,"  an- 
swered another,  "that  he  will  easily  prosper." 
"  But,"  asked  Rachid,  "how  shall  a  young  man  with 
but  three  copper  beshliks  to  his  name  go  down  to 
Egypt ?"  "In  three  days,"  replied  the  second,, "two 
rich  travellers  depart  from  Jerusalem  to  cross  the 
desert,as  it  is  said  in  the  town ;  there  is  nothing  easier 
than  to  take  service  with  them."  Failing  to  obtain 
this  service,  Rachid  determined,  nevertheless,  to 
follow  his  adventure;  he  would  go  down  to  Egypt, 
come  what  might,  and  there  abundantly  prosper. 
"I  will  depart  this  very  night,"  thought  he,  "run- 
ning in  advance  of  these  travellers,  and  when  three 
days  of  their  journey  have  passed  I  will  present  my- 
self with  all  the  wit  that  I  have.  Delighted  with 
me,  they  will  beg  me  to  accompany  them,  and  I 
will  tell  many  stories,  sing  many  songs,  be  watchful 
in  service,  never  failing  in  good-humor,  so  that  when 
the  journey  is  over  they  will  give  me  a  gift  of  gold, 
with  which  I  shall  found  a  fortune  in  Egypt."  From 
Jerusalem,  then,  went  he  to  Hebron,  to  the  Bedouin 

31 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

villages,  to  Beersheba,  and  to  the  plains  beyond, 
where,  compelled  now  of  hunger  to  be  overtaken,  he 
had  awaited  our  caravan,  spending  the  night  in  the 
open,  lest  his  intention  to  depart  from  Palestine  be 
discovered  by  the  soldiery  of  the  town. 

"The  khawaja"  he  concluded,  desperately,  "  will 
be  delighted  with  me." 

We  accepted  him  forthwith. 

"I  should  like,"  said  he,  now  frankly  crying,  "to 
kiss  the  khawaja's  hand  in  token  of  my  bondage  to 
his  generosity." 

"Had  you  not  rather  eat  a  loaf  of  the  khawaja's 
bread?"  I  asked. 

He  insisted  that  this  was  not  so,  but  ate  with  in- 
terest, you  may  be  sure,  when  he  got  the  bread  in  his 
fingers,  and  then  fell  back  to  accompany  the  mule- 
teers. At  noon,  while  we  lay  resting,  I  heard  the 
laughter  of  their  approach,  and  conceived  them  a 
happy  company;  and  I  observed  as  they  passed  that 
they  travelled  in  a  jostling  group,  with  the  roguish 
Rachid  declaiming  in  the  midst,  his  hands  gesturing, 
his  eyes  wide  with  the  excitement  of  his  tale,  so 
forgetful  in  this  occupation  of  the  rough  places  of 
the  road  that  he  stumbled  as  he  went.  When  I 
turned,  it  was  to  the  amazing  discovery  of  Aboosh 
in  the  act  of  listening  to  the  departing  story.  He 
lifted  a  finger  for  the  indulgence  of  silence — for  a 
moment  longer  cocked  his  ear — and  presently  (with 
all  the  muleteers)  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter  as  the 
entertaining  Rachid  concluded  his  recital. 

32 


VI 

TEARS    IN    THE    NIGHT 

WE  encamped  on  a  grassy  plain  where  toot-paths 
crossed — foot-paths  wandering  idly  nowhere  (it 
seemed),  used  by  bare-footed,  casual  folk,  going  with 
grave  steps.  It  was  not  a  nameless  place ;  but  I  can- 
not spell  the  name,  nor  can  any  one  I  know.  Near 
by  was  the  sun-baked  mud  shop  of  an  Egyptian 
trader  with  a  wily,  oily  way,  situate  conveniently 
at  these  cross-roads,  who  kept  cheap  things  for  sale, 
but  must  have  starved  had  his  stomach  been  of  a 
lusty  sort.  The  black  tents  of  a  shepherding  Bedouin 
tribe  were  set  in  orderly  arrangement  beyond :  whence 
was  no  issue  of  commotion,  but  only  the  appearing 
lights  of  hearth  fires  (in  that  dusk)  and  the  drone  of 
a  sleepy,  amicable  life.  Here,  indeed,  was  a  peaceful 
prospect  of  darkening  space  and  grass  and  high  sky ; 
and  it  was  very  still  in  the  world :  I  fancied  that  in 
this  obscure  by-place  all  people  went  on  tiptoe  and 
spoke  in  whispers.  In  the  vision  of  those  mild  days 
it  appears  to  me  now  as  an  expression  of  the  Twenty- 
third  Psalm.  It  was  a  fertile  pasture,  a  great  land, 
stretching  unbroken,  save  where  the  new-ploughed 
brown  earth  gave  promise  of  the  sustaining  green; 

33 


GOING    DOWN    FROM    JERUSALEM 

and  though  no  river  was  flowing  near,  yet  there  was 
a  spring  of  water,  whence  the  Bedouin  children  came, 
driving  donkeys,  bearing  great  water-jars,  making 
no  sound  but  a  soft  and  musical  encouragement  as 
they  switched  and  called  the  homeward  way.  When 
night  was  come  at  last — the  Arab  fires  extinguished, 
the  last  child  home  from  the  well,  the  crimson  glow 
of  day  withdrawn,  the  splendor  of  stars  appearing 
above  the  vacant  shadows  of  the  plain — we  lay  down 
to  sleep  with  willing  souls. 

I  was  awakened  in  the  night  by  some  one  sobbing 
by  the  tent  door. 

"Who  is  that?"  I  called. 

There  was  no  answer ;  but  presently  I  heard  Aboosh 
whispering  in  a  soothing  way.  Again  I  demanded 
to  know  the  cause  of  this  grief. 

"  It  is  Rachid,"  Aboosh  answered ;  "  he  is  homesick 
for  his  mother." 

Poor  Rachid! 

"Rachid  asks  me  to  say,"  Aboosh  continued,  after 
an  interval,  through  which  the  wretched  boy  had 
sobbed  and  spoken  and  chattered  (in  the  cold  night 
air) ,  "  that  he  wishes  the  khawaja  to  sleep,  dreaming  of 
him  as  smiling  in  the  light  of  the  khawaja's  favor." 

I  promised  Rachid  this  indulgence. 

"He  has  never  before  been  from  home,"  said 
Aboosh,  interpreting,  "and  is  much  surprised;  the 
width  of  these  plains  has  frightened  him,  and  he 
wishes  for  the  buildings  of  some  city." 

34 


TEARS    IN    THE    NIGHT 

"Provide  him,"  said  I,  distressed,  "with  suf- 
ficient to  return  to  Jerusalem." 

There  was  then  a  great  whispering  without.  I 
detected  in  the  voice  of  Aboosh  a  deal  of  admonish- 
ment ;  he  was  a  person  most  fatherly  to  the  unfortu- 
nate (because  of  the  exhausting  experiences  of  his 
youth),  but  was  now  hardly  more  than  a  man  grown. 
Rachid  protested ;  he  had  forgot,  it  seemed,  the  wish 
for  his  mother. 

"Come!"  I  cried,  impatient. 

"He  will  persist,"  Aboosh  answered. 

"But  why,"  I  complained,  "if  he  is  to  continue 
unhappy?" 

Aboosh  laughed  softly. 

"Well?"  said  I. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  in  English;  the  young  man  has 
spoken  his  answer  in  rhyme." 
'  "You  can  try." 

"He  says,"  Aboosh  reported,  laboriously,  "that 
though  the  walls  of  a  room  are  like  the  arms  of  a 
mother  in  the  night,  a  distant  adventure  is  like  the 
lips  of  some  veiled  woman  observed  in  passing." 

"Then  by  all  means,"  said  I,  heartily,  "let  him 
come  into  Egypt!" 

"  But  why,  sir?"  Aboosh  asked,  puzzled. 

I  was  glad  to  stand  by  the  spirit  of  poetry  and  to 
welcome  the  pursuit  of  romance  in  a  youth ;  but  this 
I  could  not  explain. 

"He  wants,"  said  Aboosh,  in  bewilderment,  "only 
to  see  the  lights  of  Cairo." 

35 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

"Let  him  see  the  lights  of  Cairo,"  I  answered,  in 
a  way  to  leave  open  no  reply. 

That  was  the  end  of  it:  Aboosh  went  to  bed,  leav- 
ing Rachid  to  curl  up  under  his  mat  again,  shivering 
in  the  night  air  sufficiently  to  make  any  other  poet, 
however  exalted  above  gross  comfortable  things, 
willing  to  exchange  a  rhyme  for  the  warmth  of  a  rug 
and  an  enclosed  room.  But  I  was  troubled;  it 
seemed  to  me,  after  all,  that  the  adventure  of  this 
poet  —  cast  unknowing  into  the  greedy  world  of 
Cairo — would  result  disastrously. 


VII 

GOING    EAST   AND    WEST 

WE  moved,  soon  after  dawn,  into  the  farther 
plains,  toward  the  desert.  I  remember  that 
the  white  mule,  which  led  the  caravan  of  pack- 
animals,  bedecked  with  beads  and  many  bells,  ac- 
cording to  her  degree,  and  jealous  of  that  leadership, 
was  impatient  to  be  gone  with  her  load,  knowing 
well  enough  that  she  might  not  rest  (nor  might  any 
muleteer)  until  the  smell  of  water  indicated  the  end 
of  her  day's  labor.  "Whishie" — that  stray  dog  of 
Jerusalem  which  had  followed  our  fortunes  for  dear 
and  constant  love  of  the  white  mule — barked  her  into 
subserviency  to  the  raucous  commands  of  AH  Mah- 
moud  in  a  fashion  most  intelligent,  but  then  neg- 
lected her  utterly,  being  interested  in  the  pursuit 
of  great  brown  field-mice,  which  she  could  not  resist, 
and  in  certain  investigations  of  the  sandy  ground 
quite  beyond  humans  to  fathom.  We  were  presently 
gone  from  that  peaceful  encampment,  to  which  I 
shall  ever  wish  to  return,  for  the  sake  of  that  still, 
grassy  space,  the  green  fertility,  the  soft-speaking, 
robed,  and  barefooted  inhabitants,  quietly  living— 
fairly  under  way,  now,  the  camp-folk  following,  if 

37 


GOING    DOWN    FROM    JERUSALEM 

laughter  (Rachid  being  with  them)  and  tinkling  bells 
meant  anything. 

We  proceeded,  riding  lazily,  in  the  spirit  lifting 
grateful  arms  to  the  new- washed  sky,  to  the  sun- 
shine, the  green  of  earth,  to  the  cool  dew,  fallen  thick, 
and  more  lovely  than  diamond-sparkling,  upon  the 
soft  road  we  travelled  and  all  the  world  beyond. 
By-and-by  we  fell  in  with  a  Bedouin  in  transit  over 
the  plains,  as  one  moving  his  household,  and  stopped 
to  exchange  the  salutations  of  the  road.  It  was  a 
curious  procession:  a  gravely  robed  man  on  the 
extreme  of  a  small  donkey  (with  a  foal  following) ; 
two  lean  camels,  of  tender  age,  bearing  no  loads; 
two  women  and  various  children  (numbering  not 
more  than  four),  walking  afoot;  three  frowsy  horses, 
burdened  to  the  uttermost;  a  led  mare,  and  two 
diminutive  oxen. 

"Where  go  you,  friend?"  I  asked. 

"  I  change  my  place,"  said  he. 

"But  why?"  I  pursued. 

"There  was  nothing  left  in  the  place  I  was,"  he 
answered. 

"To  what  place  do  you  go?"  I  asked,  the  plain 
apparently  offering  no  better  situation  than  that 
which  he  had  abandoned :  the  whole  good  pas- 
ture. 

"To  some  other  place,"  said  he. 

"What  advantage?" 

"  By  God!  friend,"  he  replied,  testily,  "it  is  another 
place." 

38 


WE    WERE    PRESENTLY    GONE    FROM    THAT     PEACEFUL    ENCAMPMENT 


GOING    EAST    AND    WEST 

Soon  thereafter — while  Rachid,  trotting  by  my 
stirrup,  was  engaged  with  some  tale  of  the  Wise 
Cadi  of  Al  Bursah — we  encountered  a  worn  young 
wretch  plodding  eastward  toward  Beersheba. 

"Whence?"  I  asked. 

"These  many  days  from  Egypt,"  said  he. 

The  desert  had  left  him  ragged  and  gaunt;  but  I 
fancied  that,  however  spent  he  was,  this  blossoming 
and  well- watered  country  would  presently  revive 
him,  and  I  was  glad  that  he  had  achieved  it. 

"Why  this  arduous  journey?"  said  I. 

"It  is  said  in  Egypt,"  he  answered,  hopefully, 
"that  a  young  man  will  surely  thrive  in  Jerusalem." 

Rachid  did  not  resume  the  tale  of  the  Wise  Cadi  of 
Al  Bursah.  He  had  heard  the  traveller's  answer; 
and  he  was  perhaps  perturbed  that  he  should  be 
trudging  hopefully  westward  whence  this  gaunt  man 
had  come.  He  wandered  ahead,  and  there  main- 
tained his  distance,  as  we  rode,  appearing  disheart- 
ened. When  it  came  to  the  beating  heat  of  noon,  and 
we  dismounted  to  rest,  he  sat  on  his  haunches,  apart 
from  us,  his  head  fallen  between  his  knees  (who  was 
used  at  all  such  times  to  a  lively  and  encouraging  be- 
havior at  our  elbows)— a  limp  and  downcast  poet, 
it  seemed.  When,  however,  we  had  eaten,  he  ap- 
proached, and,  having  ceremoniously  bowed,  begged 
leave  to  recite  a  little  composition  relating  to  certain 
recent  incidents  of  the  road.  He  declaimed  with  a 
relish,!  need  not  say,  and  with  all  those  little  evidences 
of  delight  with  his  inspiration  to  which  we  are  used  in 
4  39 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

poets ;  but  yet  his  eyes  would  somewhat  pathetically 
stray  from  the  eyes  of  Aboosh — to  whom  the  verses 
must  needs  be  first  delivered — to  those  of  the  kha- 
waja,  who  must  necessarily  fail  to  perceive  the  finer 
aspects  of  the  poem.  No  doubt  the  dragoman's  in- 
terpretation did  the  genius  of  this  stray  youth  a  drear 
injustice ;  there  was  no  help  for  it,  and  I  am  glad  that 
Rachid  could  not  know.  I  recall  something  of  the 
composition :  That  it  dealt  with  the  restless  Bedouin, 
a  dull  fellow,  changing  his  place  without  purpose, 
with  whom,  contrasted,  was  the  youth  from  Egypt, 
a  man  moved  by  a  mercenary  ambition  to  undertake 
a  perilous  journey;  whence  it  proceeded  to  describe 
the  hare-brained  adventure  of  the  poet  as  some  high 
aspiration  toward  that  which  I  must  call  Romance. 
Rachid  received  our  applause  with  joy,  and  ran 
off,  with  "  Whishie,"  the  dog,  to  join  the  muleteers, 
who  had  passed  by. 

In  these  days  was  an  agreeable  amazement;  no 
desert  this,  but  a  wide  and  fertile  land,  lying  between 
the  sea,  which  once  glimpsed  blue  and  far  away,  and 
a  range  of  barren  mountains,  three  days'  journey  in- 
land. It  yields  abundantly  to  an  indolent  cultiva- 
tion; and  for  the  rich  harvest  come  in  the  season  a 
host  of  eager  Egyptians,  with  their  long  trains  of 
camels,  to  trade  for  the  grain:  so  that  (said  they) 
there  were  a  thousand  tents  pitched  hereabouts,  and 
a  joyous  activity,  with  spectacles  and  merrymaking, 
like  a  fair.  Everywhere  I  observed  fragments  of 

40 


GOING    EAST    AND   WEST 

earthen  water-jars.  How  long  the  goats'-hair  tents 
have  been  moving  over  these  plains  God  knows,  but 
it  seems  that  every  foot  of  the  land  must  in  its  day 
have  been  a  warm  hearth.  They  were  now  turning 
the  brown  fields,  with  camels  harnessed  to  the  plough, 
or  sowing,  in  the  ancient  way,  a  hand  scattering  over 
the  shallow  furrows.  I  remember  this  as  a  dewy, 
pastoral  land,  of  wet  brown  earth,  shy  flowers,  of 
wide  sky  and  great  clouds,  of  flocks  returning  in 
the  dusk,  of  a  soft-speaking,  gentle  people — plains  of 
uttermost  peace. 

No  day  lacked  its  simple  interests.  There  were 
gazelles  by  the  way,  little,  leaping  things,  flashing  off 
from  a  nervous  browsing  to  the  seclusion  of  distance, 
having  no  other  cover.  A  ruined  house,  melancholy 
in  the  midst  of  a  cactus- walled  garden  of  fig-trees, 
informed  us  of  the  death  of  a  great  pastoral  sheik, 
accomplished  in  a  night  assault  by  the  enemies  of  his 
tribe.  The  plains  were  dotted  in  a  curiously  regular 
fashion  with  lily  clusters  (not  yet  in  bloom),  set  out, 
like  surveyors'  stakes,  to  mark  the  boundaries  of 
ownership;  and  here  and  there,  by  the  roadside,  some 
crusty  fellows  had  raised  little  ridges  of  sand,  like 
graves,  to  warn  trespassers  from  their  ground. 
Rach  d  sang  love-songs,  and  AH  Mahmoud  told  tales, 
and  Aboosh  related  his  experiences,  and  Yusef,  the 
cook,  worked  his  daily  miracles  with  a  charcoal  stove, 
and  the  white  mule  was  amazingly  industrious,  an 
example  to  the  others,  and  the  dog  companionable. 
Travelling  thus  happily,  we  fell  in  at  last  with  the 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

camel-riding  Turks  who  patrol  the  frontier  to  pre- 
vent the  escape  of  the  Sultan's  unwilling  subjects 
from  Palestine  into  Egypt  (whereupon  Rachid 
trembled  exceedingly,  but  was  not  questioned),  and 
that  evening  crossed  the  border  at  Rafieh,  much 
relieved  to  be  beyond  Abdul  Hamid's  jurisdiction, 
whom  we  had  not  learned  to  love  in  his  own  do- 
minions. 

Here  began,  abruptly,  like  a  bald  spot,  the  sandy 
desert  of  Et  Tih;  and  here  we  entered  the  ancient 
caravan  route  to  Cairo.  From  the  summit  of  a 
gentle  rise  of  fading  green  earth  we  first  beheld  the 
yellow  expanse  and  a  patch  of  cool  blue  sea ;  and  we 
were  much  moved,  so  that  we  paused,  without  in- 
tention to  halt,  and  spoke  never  a  word  at  all.  It 
seemed  (I  recall)  that  at  some  other  time,  having 
come  to  the  crest  of  a  little  hill,  I  had  stood  un- 
expectedly confronting  an  infinite  distance  of  hot 
sand;  and  then  I  remembered — the  impression  of 
that  other  moment  vividly  returning — that  I  had 
never  looked  upon  a  desert  before,  but  had  once  first 
seen  the  sea. 

"Well,"  Aboosh  ejaculated,  snapping  the  tension, 
"there  it  is!" 

All  at  once  the  younger  khawaja  spurred  his  horse 
to  a  gallop ;  and  the  whole  caravan,  with  much  shout- 
ing and  noise  of  bells,  clattered  down  the  hill  at  a 
furious  pace  and  crossed  the  boundary  into  Egypt. 


VIII 

A    FLEA    ON    THE    BOUNDARY    LINE 

UNTIL  this  time  there  had  come  with  us  from 
Hebron  a  Turkish  soldier,  riding  a  young 
camel  whose  virtues  he  boasted — and,  indeed,  ex- 
hibited :  the  clean  limbs,  the  stride,  and  the  docility 
of  the  beast.  It  seemed  a  worthy  camel:  a  camel 
of  excellent  humor  and  of  distinguished  promise; 
and  it  was  much  coveted  by  the  way.  At  night,  as 
the  custom  is,  the  man  was  used  to  sleeping  close  to 
his  beast,  the  winds  being  chill ;  but  now,  at  Rafieh, 
while  the  mules  were  unloading  and  the  cook  was 
coaxing  his  fire,  he  tethered  the  camel,  flung  his 
saddle  on  the  sand,  and  went  off  to  the  mud  barracks 
to  hobnob  with  the  Egyptian  frontier  guard.  I  was 
presently  alarmed  by  the  cook's  outcry  and  a  rising 
excitement  in  camp:  the  docile  camel  was  viciously 
trampling  his  master's  saddle,  stupidly  believing 
that  he  was  engaged  in  his  master's  murder — a 
savage  and  dreadful  attack,  a  rearing  and  heavy 
plunge. 

"What!"  ejaculated  the  Turk,  when  he  was  in- 
formed of  this.  "  Have  I  cherished  a  man-killer  ?" 

The  camel  was  heartily  beaten  and  reduced  to  his 

43 


GOING    DOWN    FROM    JERUSALEM 

knees,  whereupon  his  doubled  fore  leg  was  tied  so 
that  he  could  rise  but  with  difficulty,  and  we  with- 
drew to  observe  his  behavior,  for  his  master  was  not 
yet  convinced.  Rise  he  did,  a  persistent,  silent 
effort,  and  cautiously  approached  the  saddle,  which 
he  attacked  as  savagely  as  before,  but  now  with  one 
hoof. 

"I  have  had  a  narrow  escape,"  said  the  Turk; 
"my  camel  would  have  killed  me  to-night.  By 
God  and  Mohammed  the  Prophet  of  God!"  he  swore, 
"I  will  put  the  beast  in  the  bazar  at  Beersheba." 

I  inquired  concerning  the  future  owner's  prospect 
of  long  life. 

"He  is  in  God's  hands,"  was  the  answer. 

This  is  a  disposition  much  feared  in  a  camel;  the 
soldier's  beast  (they  said)  should  have  been  butchered 
for  food,  lest  he  accomplish  a  murder.  I  have  heard 
of  a  revengeful  camel  which  bit  off  the  top  of  a  boy's 
head;  but  though  the  disposition  is  known  to  all 
men,  some  say  that  camels  do  not  employ  their  teeth 
in  attack. 

Rachid  was  affected  to  the  pitch  of  bewilderment 
by  the  change  of  authority  over  him.  We  were 
every  one  elated ;  one  cannot  pass  at  a  step  from  the 
infinite  annoyance  of  misgovernment  to  an  honorably 
regulated  dominion  and  know  no  relief.  There  were 
those  of  our  company,  indeed,  who  turned  about  tow- 
ard Palestine  and  with  meaning  maledictions  cursed 
that  sovereign  whom  they  called  "The  Murderer"; 

44 


A    FLEA    ON    THE    BOUNDARY    LINE 

and  I  recall  that  those  of  us  who  might  have  known 
better  idiotically  footed  an  imaginary  line  which  we 
conceived  to  be  the  boundary,  and  in  unison  (after 
some  hilarious  rehearsal)  expressed  a  sulphurous  wish 
concerning  the  self-same  Mighty  One,  of  whose  acts 
we  had  learned  much  in  these  months.  Rachid, 
however,  made  off  toward  the  column  whence  the 
boundary  cuts  into  the  southeastern  deserts;  and 
so  amazing  was  his  behavior — far  off  and  alone  in 
the  red  sunset  light — that  I  must  follow  to  discover 
its  significance.  He  would  now  squat  in  Egypt, 
there  remaining  motionless,  turned  toward  that 
green  and  ever  greener  land  whence  we  had  ridden, 
until  all  at  once  he  would  leap  into  Palestine,  where 
he  would  stand  with  arms  folded  and  head  fallen 
forward,  staring  through  drawn  brows  into  the 
sandy  desert  and  to  the  inviting  light  of  the  heavens 
beyond. 

"I  stand  here,"  said  he,  in  vast  excitement,  when 
we  interrupted  him,  "and  may  be  seized  for  a  soldier 
or  imprisoned  to  satisfy  a  rich  enemy  or  throttled  to 
please  the  Vali  of  a  province;  but  I  move  one  step, 
which  the  khawaja  will  observe" — he  came  from 
Palestine  into  Egypt  at  a  bound — "and  behold!  the 
power  of  these  great  men  has  vanished:  I  am  no 
longer  the  slave  of  the  old  masters,  but  have  be- 
come," he  added,  with  a  wry  mouth,  "the  servant 
of  masters  whose  faces  I  have  not  seen  and  whose 
ways  are  new.  I  am  troubled  in  Egypt,"  said  he,  re- 
turning to  Palestine,  "being  a  young  man  far  from 

45 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

home  and  ignorant  of  the  customs ;  but  I  am  fright- 
ened in  Palestine,  because  I  am  a  Mohammedan,  of 
age  to  serve  in  the  Sultan's  army,  and  have  once  fled 
from  my  city—  '  and  forthwith  the  tortured  poet 
hastened  into  Egypt. 

"  It  is  evident,"  I  observed,  "  that  you  are  doomed 
to  live  the  life  of  an  uneasy  flea  on  the  boundary  line." 

"  Has  the  khawaja  spoken  my  fate  ?" 

"  Not  so,"  I  answered ;  "  you  may  continue  with  us, 
truly!" 

"I  have  succeeded  mightily,"  said  he,  in  pride, 
"in  escaping  from  Jerusalem." 

"Having  departed  without  authority,"  I  demand- 
ed, "how,  then,  shall  you  ever  return?" 

"I  will  never  return,"  he  answered,  sadly. 

"  How  shall  you  endure  when  the  old  voices  call  ?" 

In  the  way  of  poets,  his  imagination  was  quick 
to  respond  to  this  pinprick;  and  he  sighed,  replying 
slowly,  "  I  will  not  listen." 

"How  if  they  speak  wofully  in  the  night?" 

"My  heart,"  he  answered,  whispering,  "must  have 


no  ears." 


The  poet  turned  his  back  on  Palestine  and  followed 
me  to  the  tents;  and  to  the  joy  of  Aboosh  and  the 
muleteers  he  was  presently  spouting  doggerel  in 
some  genial  teasing  of  the  cook,  who  had  chanced 
to  overturn  a  pot  of  water  on  his  fire.  I  fancied, 
then,  that  the  determination  to  adventure  in  Cairo 
was  fixed,  and  I  was  glad  that  I  should  suffer  no  more 
in  sympathy  with  the  young  man's  homesickness. 

46 


A    FLEA    ON    THE    BOUNDARY    LINE 

It  seemed  to  me,  too,  I  recall,  that  some  poem  would 
doubtless  flower  from  his  unhappy  experience  by  the 
ancient  granite  column,  and  that  we  should  be  enter- 
tained on  the  day's  march  with  the  recital,  possibly 
when  the  way  was  hot  and  wearisome  and  the  spirits 
of  our  company  had  drooped ;  but  there  was  no  poem 
to  delight  us:  Rachid,  observe,  was  as  wayward  as 
any  great  poet. 


IX 

THE    RUNAWAY   BRIDE 

HERE,  then,  we  entered  again  the  old  route  into 
Egypt,  travelled  these  ages,  but  now  almost 
forsaken:  a  long,  voiceless,  glowing  road,  touching 
the  shore  of  the  sea,  wandering  over  blistered  salt 
bottoms,  past  stagnant,  encrusted  pools,  through 
deep  sand,  drifted  in  hills,  smoking  in  the  wind. 
There  is  some  commerce  between  Gaza  and  El 
Arish,  between  El  Arish  and  the  canal,  brief  trains  of 
camels  carrying  grain;  and  in  the  season  droves  of 
camels  pass  from  the  great  Arabian  Desert  to  the 
markets  of  Egypt ;  but  no  opulent  caravans  go  that 
way,  as  formerly,  nor  is  there  anywhere  the  sug- 
gestion of  a  former  importance,  save  at  Rafieh, 
where  a  broken  granite  column  lies  beside  the  road, 
half  buried  in  the  sand. 

Beyond  El  Arish  is  no  town,  no  considerable 
habitation — no  more,  at  that  season,  than  the  huts 
of  the  keepers  of  the  wells,  and  widely  dispersed 
groups  of  goats'-hair  tents,  sheltering  a  beggarly 
crew  of  lean,  low-living  Bedouins.  Wells  are  at 
merciful  intervals — deep  holes  in  the  sand,  well  kept 
in  these  days  of  the  Occupation,  but  accumulating 

48 


THE    RUNAWAY    BRIDE 

brackish,  bitter  water.  One  well  of  sweet  water  I 
recall  in  a  six  days'  journey.  They  may  be  sunk  in 
a  barren,  without  a  bush  or  blade  of  grass  to  grace 
the  neighborhood;  at  the  most  beautiful,  a  grove  of 
date-palms  rises  from  the  sand.  There  is  no  oasis 
of  the  imagination  on  the  desolate  and  forgotten 
caravan  route  that  crosses  the  sandy  desert  of  Et  Tin 
into  Egypt.  It  is  a  broiling  path — hardly  tolerable 
at  mid -day,  even  in  January. 

In  two  days,  the  sun  a  blistering,  white-hot  light, 
puffs  of  gritty  dust  rising  with  listless  weight  under 
the  hoofs  of  our  horses,  we  were  at  El  Arish,  a  little 
city  of  blinding  square  white  houses,  builded  in  deep 
sand,  near  by  the  sea. 

Approaching  El  Arish — passing  now,  in  the  mid- 
day heat,  over  rolling  sand,  from  which,  here  and 
there,  dry,  gray  bushes  sprang — our  company  halted 
to  observe  a  curious  and  disquieting  sight:  a  woman 
in  flight — slipping  like  a  hare  from  bush  to  bush; 
stopping,  exhausted,  then  venturing  desperately  on. 
Whither  she  fled,  God  knew,  for  her  face  was  turned 
to  the  very  heart  of  the  desert,  and  there  she  must 
surely  perish:  there  was  neither  water  nor  encamp- 
ment in  that  forlorn  direction,  as  we  knew.  There 
came  over  a  near-by  rise,  while  we  debated,  a  Sou- 
danese of  the  garrison,  riding  a  camel,  which  he  had 
at  the  trot,  and  a  gray-bearded  old  man,  with  his 
loins  girt  up,  running  afoot,  the  breath  almost  gone 
from  his  creaking  body.  At  sight  of  the  small,  flee- 

49 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

ing  figure  they  swerved  from  the  road,  hastened  the 
faltering  pace,  and  presently  overtook  the  fugitive, 
whom  the  old  man  caught  by  the  wrist  and  roughly 
persuaded  to  return. 

"  I  am  her  uncle,"  he  explained,  but  not  unkindly; 
"she  has  no  other  relative,  and  she  has  run  away 
from  her  husband,  to  whom  I  gave  her." 

She  was  but  a  girl,  a  child,  over-young  to  be  mar- 
ried, it  seemed,  and  though  her  face  was  in  part 
veiled  and  in  part  concealed  by  bangles,  it  was  ap- 
parent that  she  was  comely,  if  only  with  youth. 

"Has  she  done  a  wrong?" 

"It  is  not  that,"  he  replied;  "it  is  because  I  guar- 
anteed her  behavior,  and  must  now  restore  her  or 
pay  the  penalty." 

"My  husband  is  old,"  said  the  girl,  defiantly, 
"and  beats  me." 

"What  refuge,"  I  asked,  "did  you  think  to  find 
in  the  desert  hereabout?" 

She  answered,  sullenly,  like  a  child,  "I  was  run- 
ning away." 

El  Arish,  to  which  we  came  that  day,  lay  near  the 
sea,  past  a  fruitful,  primitively  irrigated  sand  plain 
where  date-palms  and  fig-trees  and  sprawling  vines 
grew  in  the  sand,  and  where  were  green  and  flourish- 
ing vegetable  patches.  It  is  a  city,  beautiful  in  these 
parts,  of  many  low  white  houses,  blinding  in  the  sun- 
light, of  streets  ankle  deep  with  sand,  of  bazars  and 
mosques,  of  a  small  military  establishment,  under 
the  English,  a  city  of  eight  thousand  inhabitants 

So 


EL     ARISH.     THE     HALF-WAY     CITY     OF     THE     CARAVAN      ROUTE 


THE    RUNAWAY    BRIDE 

(I  think) — a  seat  of  justice,  at  any  rate;  for  next 
morning  the  runaway  wife  was  taken  before  the  cadi 
of  the  district  for  judgment.  "I  will  not  live  with 
my  husband,"  said  she,  "  except  I  have  my  will  in 
a  certain  matter."  The  cadi  asked  for  an  explana- 
tion, whereupon  a  curious  thing  happened.  "It  is 
my  will,"  said  the  girl,  "that  my  uncle  shall  give  his 
daughter  to  my  husband's  eldest  son,  which  he  has 
refused  to  do.  Upon  these  terms  I  will  return  to  my 
husband,  and  will  continue  dutiful."  It  was  then  so 
agreed  among  them,  and  the  grateful  cadi  dismissed 
them  all. 

They  said  in  the  town  that  the  girl  loved  her 
husband's  son,  and  had  sacrificed  herself  to  his  happi- 
ness; and  of  the  young  man  good  words  were  spoken. 

The  foreminded  Aboosh  must  here  outfit  for  the 
longer  stage,  six  days  of  desert  riding,  to  the  Suez 
Canal,  where,  at  Kantara,  was  a  railroad  train, 
Cairo  bound.  It  was  with  a  caravan  of  self -satisfy- 
ing proportions  that  we  departed :  I  was  reminded  of 
a  ship  leaving  some  port,  abundantly  crewed  and 
provisioned;  and,  indeed,  we  were  like  those  going 
out  to  the  barren  sea.  There  was  now  a  great  com- 
pany of  men  and  beasts:  Aboosh,  a  dragoman  of 
tact  and  most  perceiving  consideration,  with  Taufik, 
his  lieutenant,  and  that  big  AH  Mahmoud,  of  whom 
I  have  spoken,  who  was  in  almost  sheikly  authority 
over  five  cutthroat-appearing  muleteers;  a  cook  of 
engaging  accomplishments,  the  pock-marked  Yusef, 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

with  Elias,  the  serving-boy;  a  Soudanese  corporal, 
taken  from  the  garrison  of  El  Arish,  who  must  (they 
said)  be  guard  on  the  way;  Rachid  of  Jerusalem,  that 
derelict,  and  Mustafa,  the  entertaining  camel-driver, 
with  his  six  slow-footed  beasts  and  five  camel-boys— 
men  and  boys  to  the  number  of  twenty,  and  horses, 
mules,  donkeys,  and  camels  to  the  number  of  twenty- 
four.  Following  along  the  sandy  route  of  that  great 
desert,  trailing  over  the  flat  salt-bottoms  to  which 
we  came,  it  seemed  a  company  disproportionate  to 
the  needs  of  two  unostentatious  travellers;  but  the 
thrifty  Aboosh,  who  had  contracted  with  us,  smiled 
indulgently,  saying,  "It  is  not  the  habit  of  the 
dragoman  to  waste  his  dollars."  It  turned  out, 
indeed,  that  this  was  no  extravagant  and  displayful 
progress;  our  water  was  spent,  our  provisions  had 
dwindled  to  the  narrowest  comfortable  remainder 
when  we  came  to  Kantara  on  the  last  day.  Short 
rations,  a  drop  for  a  drink,  had  been  our  portion  in 
the  event  of  any  undue  delay. 


THE   DESERT   ROAD 

BEYOND  El  Arish,  where  the  road  departs  from 
the  shore,  the  desert  is  rolling  and  sparsely 
bushed;  and  here  is  a  grewsome  place:  for  (said  the 
Soudanese  as  we  rode)  a  youth  of  the  town,  returning 
from  the  sale  of  camels  in  Egypt,  with  the  gold  in  his 
belt,  had  behind  a  near  drift  of  sand  been  murdered 
by  one  whom  he  had  befriended,  a  Bedouin  of  beyond 
the  frontier,  broken  in  fortune.  There  were,  indeed, 
two,  for  they  travelled  three  together,  and  the  deed 
was  accomplished  by  arrangement.  "Save  me!" 
cried  the  poor  youth,  staggering  under  the  first  blow 
of  the  sword,  and  ran  confidently  to  this  Bedouin; 
but  the  man  employed  his  dagger  in  a  way  that  may 
not  be  described,  being  most  foul  and  gory,  and  the 
youth  expired  at  his  feet.  And  now,  as  we  rode  from 
this  unhappy  spot,  we  came  upon  a  caravan  of  dis- 
tinction: a  man  of  some  carriage,  clad  in  silk,  riding 
with  two  body-servants,  a  guard  and  a  secretary, 
his  baggage- camels  trailing  behind ;  and  he  wavered 
loosely  on  the  back  of  his  camel  in  a  fashion  most 
painful  and  weary. 

53 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

"By  God!  friends,"  he  groaned,  "how  far  is  it  to 
El  Arish?" 

We  told  him  four  hours. 

"Praise  God!"  said  he;  "for  I  have  been  tortured 
six  days  on  the  back  of  this  beast." 

I  inquired  of  his  errand. 

"  I  am  a  judge,"  he  answered,  "  come  this  distance 
from  Egypt  to  try  a  cursed  Bedouin  for  murder. 
Four  hours  to  El  Arish?  Then,  by  God!"— more 
cheerfully — "  we  shall  try  the  Bedouin  this  after- 
noon and  hang  him  to-morrow." 

Beyond  the  frontier  the  Bedouin  might  easily 
have  bought  himself  free  with  stolen  gold;  but  here 
was  English  jurisdiction. 

Riding  once,  past  noon,  in  a  blistering  glare,  we 
came  unexpectedly  upon  an  old  man,  bent,  lean, 
and  gray,  but  trudging  sturdily  eastward,  ankle 
deep  in  the  sand,  appearing  a  helpless  figure  in  that 
inimical  waste.  He  was  afoot,  alone,  clad  all  in  the 
rags  of  a  pilgrim;  and  that  he  was  piously  inclined 
was  speedily  evident,  for  no  sooner  had  he  perceived 
our  caravan  than  he  removed  from  the  road,  spread 
his  abba  in  haste,  and  knelt  to  recite  the  pray- 
ers, continuing  to  bow  and  patter  until  we  halted 
abreast. 

"Whither  bound?"  said  I. 

"To  Mecca,  khawaja,  to  perform  the  ceremonies. 
I  am  come  from  beyond  Egypt,  and  am  belated  be- 
cause of  sickness." 

54 


THE    DESERT    ROAD 

"Have  you  no  fear  of  starvation?" 

"God  is  my  sustenance,  khawaja,"  he  answered. 

"Neither  dread  of  wild  beasts  nor  robbers?" 

"God  is  my  shield." 

"  Here  is  a  lonely  pilgrimage,"  said  I,  in  pity. 

"God  is  my  companion,  khawaja,  and  my  com- 
fort." 

"  But  to  die  in  this  wild  desert!" 

"The  will  of  God,  khawaja:  I  am  content." 

We  rode  on,  having  stood,  in  pity,  to  watch  the 
pious  pilgrim  turn  a  sand -drift,  moving  in  haste 
above  his  strength ;  and  presently — it  may  have  been 
two  hours — we  encountered,  in  a  gully,  a  red-bearded 
mighty  man,  not  yet  grown  past  his  youth,  who  in 
this  heat  had  stripped  to  his  fluttering  shirt:  a 
morose  and  angry  fellow  (thought  we),  now  sweating 
and  out  of  breath,  as  with  running.  He,  too,  was 
in  haste,  it  seemed — but  wherefore  was  a  mystery, — 
and  heeded  us  with  impatience;  but  we  could  not 
let  him  pass,  for  he  had  no  girbie  of  water,  nor  any 
bread  that  we  could  see,  and  seemed  to  be  travelling 
incontinently  to  a  bitter  death. 

"Have  you  neither  food  nor  water?"  I  demanded. 

"Two  hours  gone,"  he  answered,  "did  you  not 
pass  an  old  man  much  given  to  piety  and  praying?" 

"Bearing  an  Egyptian  water-bottle?" 

"The  bottle  is  from  Algiers,  whence  am  I;  but  the 
man  is  the  same,  may  God  reward  him  with  hunger, 
thirst,  and  plague!  For  three  days,  khawaja,  we 
travelled  in  friendship,  and  he  shared  all  that  I  had, 

*  55 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

having  nothing  himself;  but  this  morning,  when  I 
awoke,  he  had  stolen  away,  and  I  was  deserted, 
thieved  of  my  water  and  bread,  and  left  to  die." 

We  gave  the  man  food  and  water,  urging  him  the 
while  to  leniency. 

"Your  beneficence,"  said  he,  "has  saved  the  life 
of  that  false  friend;  but  still,  by  God!  will  I  punish 
him." 

He  departed,  running. 

It  seemed,  sometimes,  after  noon,  that  the  elder 
khawaja  wished  the  day's  riding  over;  and  Mustafa, 
the  camel-driver,  wise  and  kindly  man,  would  stride 
smilingly  by  his  stirrup,  in  the  way  of  some  mediaeval 
retainer.  "I  will  tell  the  khawaja  a  most  excellent 
and  engaging  story,  to  relieve  his  weariness,  if  he 
will  but  deign  to  listen,"  he  would  begin.  Where- 
upon there  would  crowd  near  all  the  muleteers  and 
chance  followers  of  our  fortunes;  and  an  orderly 
caravan  would  all  at  once  turn  into  a  jostling  com- 
pany of  mules,  donkeys,  camels,  and  horses,  for  the 
moment  having  the  will  of  their  abstracted  riders. 
"There  was  once  a  Sultan,"  Mustafa  related,  I  recall 
—and  this  was  approaching  Bir-el-Adb — l<who  com- 
manded that  there  should  be  no  occupation  followed 
after  sundown  in  his  city.  'My  city,'  said  he,  'shall 
be  silent :  I  will  have  not  so  much  as  a  whisper  to  dis- 
turb the  sleep  of  my  people.'  And  after  that  there 
was  no  sound — except  a  tapping:  a  mysterious  tap- 
tap-tapping,  which  no  servant  of  the  Sultan  could 

56 


THE    DESERT    ROAD 

locate  or  explain.  But  the  Sultan  commanded  that 
the  culprit  should  immediately  be  discovered,  since 
it  was  his  will,  he  said,  to  decapitate  so  flagrant  an 
offender;  and  eventually  a  poor  shoemaker  was  sur- 
prised at  his  labor,  and  forthwith  haled  before  the 
Sultan,  to  answer  to  the  accusation  that  he  was  the 
most  disobedient  subject  in  all  the  land. 

'"Come!'  cried  the  Sultan,  in  anger;  'is  it  true 
that  you  are  a  disobedient  fellow,  who  must  lose  his 
head?' 

"'It  is  true,'  answered  the  poor  shoemaker,  'that 
I  have  disobeyed  your  Majesty's  command.' 

"By  this  candor  the  Sultan  was  amazed.  'Then 
why,'  he  demanded,  'have  you  ventured  your  life 
in  this  unprofitable  fashion?' 

"Alas!'  cried  the  culprit,  'I  must  labor  for  the 
one  by  night  and  for  the  other  by  day.' 

"The  Sultan  asked  for  an  explanation. 

"I  am  the  slave,'  answered  the  shoemaker,  'of 
a  robber  and  a  creditor.' 

'"What  robber,'  demanded  the  Sultan,  'has 
escaped  my  law,  and  what  creditor  is  so  cruel?' 

'"The  robber,'  answered  the  shoemaker,  'is  my 
daughter,  who  takes  from  me  for  clothing  which  she 
needs  not;  and  the  creditor,'  said  he,  'is  my  son, 
to  whose  future  I  am  in  grievous  debt,  since  I  have 
fathered  him,  and  owe  him,  God  knows,  what  he 
may  achieve.' 

'"Your  daughter,'  said  the  Sultan,  pleased  with 
the  answer,  '  I  will  give  to  a  husband ;  your  son  I  will 

57 


GOING    DOWN    FROM    JERUSALEM 

take  into  my  service;  and  will  you  then  continue  to 
despite  me?* 

"  '  Nevermore,'  answered  the  shoemaker." 

I  thanked  Mustafa  for  the  story. 

"Labor  in  your  service,  khawaja,"  he  answered, 
smiling,  "is  like  rest." 

These  were  tales,  told  in  ancient  fashion — as  to  the 
Canterbury  pilgrims,  —  to  relieve  the  tedium  of 
travelling  ahorse.  And  many  a  tale  was  told;  but 
of  all  that  the  elder  khawaja  could  give  in  return, 
none  so  delighted  our  followers  as  the  tales  of  the 
camel-trader  from  Ain  el-Kaum — that  cunning  ras- 
cal!— with  whom  I  had  fallen  in  at  Damascus  and 
concerning  whom  I  shall  now  relate  what  befell. 


XI 

THE    CAMEL-TRADER 

IT  was  a  fortunate  encounter  of  a  windy  night  at 
the  khan  of  the  camel-drivers  —  that  with  the 
camel-trader  from  Ain  el-Kaum.  Damascus  was  in- 
doors— in  the  coffee-houses  and  khans  and  shuttered 
dwellings — or  timidly  abroad.  Now  were  the  nights 
before  the  pilgrimage;  outcasts  and  thieves,  come 
from  the  mountains  and  nearer  deserts,  lurked  in 
the  dark  bazars,  slinking  in  from  the  alleys.  Ap- 
prentices, left  to  lock  the  stalls,  belated  artisans  and 
shopkeepers,  young  sparks  of  the  town,  honest  foot- 
passengers  of  every  condition,  made  haste  and  wisely 
kept  to  the  wall.  Beyond  the  security  and  com- 
fortable glow  of  the  Stik  AH  Pasha  a  woman  was  on 
her  knees,  in  the  darkness  of  the  ass-market,  wail- 
ing: "For  God's  sake,  give  me  bread!  The  grain- 
merchants  have  stripped  the  poor,  curse  them!  A 
metallik,  men,  for  bread.  In  the  name  of  God,  give!" 
A  fool  with  a  tabl,  beating  on  that  little  drum  an 
accompaniment  to  a  foolish  song,  ran  joyously  past. 
Two  men,  wrapped  from  the  weather  in  great  cloaks, 
came  striding  down,  gigantic  in  the  shadows, 
swords  dragging.  They  paused  by  the  beggar; 

59 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

having  cursed  and  belabored  the  dogs  that  troubled 
them,  they  went  on.  The  woman  was  left  alone 
again,  still  raising  her  doleful  clamor. 

Across  the  deserted  square,  in  a  bazar  of  the  poor, 
a  half-witted  vendor  of  sheep's  tails  was  huddled  over 
a  charcoal  fire,  patiently  expecting  late  customers  as 
a  gift  -from  God.  The  tatters  of  a  rotted  canopy 
swaying  in  the  wind  with  a  trailing  vine  shut  out  the 
clear  light  of  the  stars.  It  was  here,  but  somewhat 
past  the  red  light  of  the  half-wit's  fire,  that  the  Inter- 
preter stumbled  over  a  litter  of  pups  sound  asleep 
in  the  refuse.  Starting  away  from  the  yelp  and 
growl,  he  unhappily  chanced  to  tread  on  a  crippled 
boy,  who  had  curled  up  by  the  wall.  We  appeased 
the  outcry;  but  to  escape  the  confusion,  which  in- 
stantly began  to  gather,  must  dodge  into  a  winding 
alley — a  strip  of  velvet  sky  above,  puddles  of  yester- 
day's rain  underfoot ;  the  walls  high,  blank,  approach- 
ing overhead ;  the  doors  all  shut  and  barred.  Present- 
ly, as  we  went  with  caution  over  the  slippery  stones, 
a  ragged  fellah  brushed  past.  There  issued  then 
from  the  khan  of  the  camel-drivers  a  black  Bedouin, 
his  kaffiyeh  and  agal  and  abba  all  awry,  who  began  to 
raise  a  great  clamor  at  the  heels  of  the  fellah,  be- 
seeching him  by  God  to  return  and  be  a  witness  to 
the  truth  of  his  contention,  for  he  was  being  robbed 
by  a  camel-driver  from  Baghdad. 

Led  by  these  mischances,  we  followed  to  the  stable- 
yard  of  the  khan,  incidents  of  a  ragged,  frowzy, 
gravely  enwrapped  group,  in  the  midst  of  which  the 

60 


THE    CAMEL-TRADER 

fellah  and  the  black  Bedouin,  disregarding  the  in- 
trusion, had  already  occupied  the  camel-driver  in  a 
fashion  amazingly  noisy  for  the  occasion  of  the 
dispute — the  matter  of  a  cracked  coin.  Here  was 
a  situation  of  much  promise,  as  it  seemed:  a  trade 
and  a  cracked  beshlik,  a  fellah,  a  black  Bedouin,  and  a 
camel-driver  from  Baghdad,  fast  approaching  the 
point  of  explosion.  They  would  presently  take  (I 
fancied)  either  to  a  savagely  brutal  stabbing  or  to 
some  maidenly  slapping — there  was  no  telling  which. 
But  there  was  no  climax  of  the  sort;  the  keeper  of 
the  khan,  inopportunely  appearing  at  the  moment— 
a  one-eyed,  hook-nosed  man,  lean  to  the  bones — put 
an  end  to  the  dispute  by  ferociously  ejecting  the 
three  and  barring  the  door.  What  happened  in  the 
alley  I  do  not  know,  for  I  was  fortunately  not  ejected  ; 
but  within,  in  the  course  of  a  lively  discussion  of  the 
merits  of  the  case,  I  made  the  engaging  acquaint- 
ance of  the  pious  camel-trader  from  Ain  el-Kaum, 
with  whom,  shortly,  I  was  not  only  drinking  coffee 
in  the  crazy  balcony  above  the  stable-yard,  but  en- 
joying with  him,  as  he  recited  it,  the  rare  flavor  of 
his  rascality. 

This  was  Abdullah. 

"  Listen,  khawaja,"  said  he,  leaning  into  the  candle- 
light, his  lean  brown  face  drawn  with  the  intensity 
of  his  conviction,  "and  I  will  tell  you  this:  Let  the 
fool  go  to  the  ass  for  help  in  a  camel  trade.  By  the 
Prophet,  there  is  no  mercy!  Camel  for  camel!" 

61  * 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

he  proceeded,  tapping  my  sleeve  with  the  henna- 
stained  tip  of  a  slender  forefinger.  "  It  is  a  sickness. 
By  the  Merciful!  there  is  no  cure  once  it  takes  you. 
I  have  known  a  man  to  give  his  sister  to  boot  in  trade 
for  a  black  camel  bred  at  El  Jerisi ;  and  I  myself  was 
tempted  to  leave  Hassan,  my  son,  as  hostage  for 
the  payment  of  four  hundred  piastres  I  lacked  in  the 
trade  for  a  Nejd  beast  on  the  Baghdad  route.  It 
was  not  required,  God  and  the  Prophet  befriending, 
for  the  man  was  a  fool ;  but  I  loved  that  camel,  and  the 
will  was  with  me.  I  was  then/'  he  began,  "seven 
days  on  the  road  from  Baghdad,  leading  a  lazy 
Turkestan  beast,  square  as  a  box,  haired  like  a  he- 
goat  of  the  Lebanon  hills,  with  a  neck  like  the  Proph- 
et's tree  you  may  see  in  the  Suk  es-Surujiyeh. 
Not  a  hundred  rotels  on  the  beast's  back,  with  Hassan, 
my  son,  a  feather's  weight  more;  and  yet  she  groaned 
at  the  loading  like  a  starved  wood-carrier  of  the 
town.  But,  by  the  grace  of  God" — with  a  little 
shrug  of  resignation—  •"  I  came  with  my  camel,  with 
Hassan,  my  son,  and  with  one  hundred  piastres  in 
my  pocket,  to  a  camel-breeding  tribe  from  the 
south,  encamped  by  the  road;  and  there — ah,  kha- 
waja!" 

The  tab.e  was  tapped  to  demand  attention. 

"There,  ah,  khawaja!"  sighed  the  trader,  gently, 
with  a  reminiscent  leer  of  delight,  "  I  saw  a  camel  that 
was  better  than  my  camel ;  and  I  loved  that  camel, 
and  could  go  no  step  beyond  it." 

I  asked  for  the  story  of  the  trade. 

62 


THE    CAMEL-TRADER 

"God  willing!"  he  answered. 

In  the  silence  some  camel-driver  of  the  pilgrims, 
half  asleep  on  a  heap  of  meal-bags  in  the  stable-yard 
below,  began  to  sing,  imploring  his  blessed  she-camel, 
in  a  lack-interest,  nasal  drawl,  to  remember  the  dewy 
grass  beyond,  and  be  strong  on  the  march,  that  the 
tomb  of  the  Prophet,  the  Holy  Mosque  itself,  might 
surely  be  visited. 

"A  flea  hop  in  his  throat!"  growled  the  trader. 

The  singer  fell  asleep. 


XII 

THE    DEVICE    OP   ABDULLAH 

"Jg'HAWAJA"  the  story  went  on,  "I  was  afflicted 
"*  with  admiration.  It  is  the  truth.  I  knew  that  I 
must  devise  a  way  of  possessing  the  camel  that  was 
better  than  my  camel,  or  perish,  and  I  told  the  owner 
that  I  had  fallen  in  love  with  the  beast. 

''Come!'  said  I;  'let  us  trade.  Your  camel  for 
mine,  and  I  will  pay  the  difference,  for  I  love  your 
camel  more  than  my  own/ 

'"Love  my  wife,  if  you  will,'  he  answered,  'but 
leave  my  dog  and  my  camel,  for  I  am  a  jealous  man. 
Where  is  your  camel  ? ' 

1  'Then  I  asked  him: 

"'By  Allah!  where  is  the  profit  in  exhibiting  my 
camel  if  you  will  not  part  with  yours  ? ' 

"'By  Allah!'  said  he,  'we  should  spend  time  like 
fools.  Is  your  camel  near  at  hand  ?' 

"It  is  no  matter/  said  I,  'for  I  have  no  mind  to 
show  her/ 

"Then  I  led  him  to  my  camel. 

" It  is  a  waste  of  time/  said  he,  'to  look  twice  at 
a  beast  from  Turkestan/ 

"But  he  examined  my  camel;  and  I  observed, 

64 


THE    DEVICE    OF    ABDULLAH 

khawaja,  that  he  failed  to  discover  a  soft  tendon 
in  the  left  hind  leg,  and  I  was  hopeful,  for  he  seemed 
like  a  fool.  But  he  scorned  my  camel,  after  all,  ask- 
ing what  he  should  do  with  a  hairy,  northern-bred 
cow,  which  might  climb  mountains  like  a  goat,  but 
was  not  equal  to  a  day's  journey  at  midsummer  in 
the  desert.  It  was  true,  all  that  he  said,  and  there 
was  the  soft  tendon  besides,  in  addition  to  an  evil 
temper,  and  a  gathering  under  the  shoulder ;  but  the 
words  wounded  me,  and  I  knew  then  that  I  should 
have  the  man's  camel,  by  the  grace  of  God,  if  only 
to  teach  him  the  value  of  my  own. 

"  I  was  humble,  khawaja,  and  followed  the  man  to 
his  tent,  praying  that  the  favor  of  the  Prophet 
might  disclose  a  trick  with  which  I  could  persuade 
him. 

* ' I  am  a  compassionate  man,'  said  he,  'and  I  will 
take  pity.  Give  me  your  beast  and  five  hundred 
piastres  and  the  thing  is  done.  By  Allah,  and  Mo- 
hammed the  Prophet  of  Allah!  it  is  my  last  word.' 

"'It  is  a  reasonable  demand,'  I  answered;  'but  I 
have  no  more  than  one  hundred  piastres  in  the  world. 
I  will  take  your  camel,  leaving  Hassan,  my  son,  as 
security  for  the  payment  of  the  balance." 

The  camel-trader  leaned  again  into  the  candle- 
light, his  long  arm  at  full  length,  his  fingers  stiffened 
in  the  Bedouin  fashion:  the  whole  figure  tense. 

"  By  the  grace  of  God,"  said  he,  "  the  sacrifice  was 
not  required!  Khawaja,"  he  whispered,  with  a 
cunning  droop  of  the  eye  and  twitch  of  the  lip, 

65 


GOING    DOWN    FROM    JERUSALEM 

"  there  is  a  proverb:  Tie  your  dog  or  pay  the  stran- 
ger." 

The  application  was  ooscure. 

"  Wellah!"  he  continued,  "  it  is  the  truth.  Listen  i 
It  is  a  law  of  the  Bedouins  that  the  dog  which  bites 
a  stranger  shall  be  killed.  There  is  more:  it  is  re- 
quired that  the  owner  of  the  dog  shall  reward  the 
stranger  for  this  mistreatment.  Listen!"  he  pro- 
ceeded, a  little  tremolo  of  joyous  excitement  in  his 
voice.  "By  the  grace  of  God,  I  observed  that  the 
owner  of  the  camel  that  was  better  than  my  camel 
had  been  unwise  with  the  dog  that  he  loved ;  and  I 
knew  then  that  the  trade  was  delivered  into  my 
hands,  though  I  had  but  a  hairy  Turkestan  beast  by 
the  halter  and  one  hundred  piastres  in  my  pocket. 

" '  Hassan/  I  said  to  my  son,  '  the  Prophet  is  with 
us.  Observe  that  the  man's  dog  is  loose.  Take  a 
lesson  from  what  I  do.' 

"Then,  khawaja,  when  the  master's  back  was 
turned  I  insulted  the  dog  with  all  my  might,  and  the 
dog  was  unable  to  withstand  the  temptation  of  my 
person,  which  I  had  placed  within  his  reach.  I  was 
sorely  bitten  in  the  leg,  so  that  my  kamis  was  torn 
and  bloody ;  but  this  I  bore  with  resignation  by  the 
power  of  the  Prophet  and  of  God,  for  the  man's 
camel  was  mine/ 

" 1 1  would  not  take  one  thousand  piastres  for  my 
dog/  cried  he.  'Come!'  he  besought;  'conceal  this 
thing  from  the  sheik ;  give  me  one  hundred  piastres 
and  your  camel,  and  take  my  beast/ 

66 


THE    DEVICE    OF    ABDULLAH 

"I  answered: 

"  'It  would  leave  me  penniless.' 

'"Camel  for  camel,  then/  said  he,  'and  say  no 
more.' 

"I  answered: 

'"I  am  tired  of  walking.' 

"'By  Allah!'  said  he,  'I  love  my  dog;  take  your 
camel  and  my  camel  and  depart.' 

"I  answered: 

" '  It  is  true  that  you  love  your  dog;  but  who  will 
pay  the  thousand  piastres  the  sheik  will  award  me 
for  the  damage  your  dog  has  done  ? ' 

" '  Wellah! '  cried  he,  '  leave  me  at  least  the  dust  on 
my  feet;  take  one  hundred  piastres  and  begone.' 

"I  answered: 

"'I  am  a  compassionate  man;  three  hundred  will 
be  sufficient.' 

"And  I  took  two  hundred  piastres,  kh-awaja,  and 
his  camel  and  my  camel,  and  journeyed  on  toward 
Damascus,  with  Hassan,  my  son,  who  profited  much 
by  the  experience." 

The  camel-trader  laughed,  with  his  little  eyes 
puckered  up,  his  lips  drawn  away,  so  that  his  long, 
yellow  teeth  shone  in  the  candle-light. 


XIII 

THE  TALE  OF  THE  NEEDLE  AND  THREAD 

THIS  camel-trading  Abdullah  from  Ain  el-Kaum, 
in  the  tales  of  whose  rascality  our  followers  on 
the  desert  road  delighted — this  spare,  peering,  cun- 
ning fellow  in  a  brown  abba  falling  from  his  shoul- 
ders in  generous  folds,  with  a  kafjiyeh  of  white  silk 
shadowing  his  face  and  kept  in  place  with  two  ropes 
of  camel's  hair — this  Bedouin  had  hands  capable 
of  an  emotional  performance  amazing  to  behold. 
They  were  incredibly  garrulous ;  there  was  no  end  to 
their  running  on;  they  were  never  at  a  loss;  they 
chattered  away  with  oily  ease :  creating  no  boredom, 
always  entertaining  and  elegant  and  talkative  to 
purpose. 

They  were  slender,  long-fingered,  delicately  form- 
ed and  tinted  hands,  tipped  with  smooth  little  nails : 
showing  no  mark  whatsoever,  neither  wrinkle  nor 
stain,  of  what  is  elsewhere  called  work,  though  they 
had  doubtless  been  honorably  industrious  on  many 
a  dark,  halter-loosing,  camel-thieving  night.  It  was 
as  though  they  existed  in  friendly  independence  of 
Abdullah — softly  emerging  from  the  sleeves  of  the 
abba  when  the  outlook  was  threatening,  flying  into 

68 


TALE    OF   THE    NEEDLE   AND    THREAD 

violent  action  at  critical  moments.  At  any  rate, 
they  were  never  idle;  they  were  continuously  in 
attitudes,  designed  with  instant  and  accurate  genius 
to  illustrate  and  impress. 

The  clever  mockery  of  Abdullah's  sister,  who  so 
fascinated  the  owner  of  a  high-bred  camel  of  the 
Israigan  strain  that  an  outrageous  trade  was  per- 
petrated against  him,  was  conveyed  not  so  much 
by  Abdullah's  coquettish  accent,  by  the  flash  of  his 
eye,  darting  with  deadly  intention  from  the  shadow 
of  his  kaffiyeh,  as  by  the  yielding,  love-lorn  despair 
with  which  his  hand  fell  fluttering  upon  his  heart, 
and  there  reposed,  exhausted  but  ecstatic.  Nor  in 
the  tale  of  the  camel  with  the  glass  eyes,  which  he 
told  before  we  left  him,  was  his  contempt  for  the 
poor  beast  expressed  in  any  way  so  thoroughly  as  by 
the  lift  of  that  self-same  hand,  palm  upward,  bidding 
the  thing  begone  from  memory. 

The  hands  were  busy  indeed  in  support  of  the 
tongue,  until  the  tongue  was  through  with  the  tale; 
and  then  they  crept  quietly  back  into  the  sleeves 
of  the  abba,  leaving  nothing  in  the  candle-light  but 
the  trader's  dark,  black-bearded  face,  lean  to  the 
point  of  emaciation,  delicately  wrinkled  about  the 
little  black  eyes  by  past  sunlight,  the  long,  yellow, 
rat-like  teeth  now  disclosed  by  a  devilish  sort  of 
glee. 

"  Khawaja"  said  Abdullah,  proceeding  now  to 
relate  the  experience  of  the  needle  and  thread,  "the 

69 


GOING    DOWN    FROM    JERUSALEM 

Bedouins  have  a  proverb:  I  went  to  hunt  and  was 
hunted." 

He  laughed  a  little,  reminiscently,  as  he  accepted 
a  cigarette,  tapping  my  hand  to  indicate  his  readiness 
to  kiss  it,  but  wisely  saving  me  the  embarrassment. 

"Listen!"  said  he.  "By  Allah!"  he  swore,  ac- 
cording to  his  custom,  "  I  speak  the  truth." 

Abdullah's  hands  emerged  from  the  seclusion  of 
his  sleeves  to  commend  his  words. 

"Coming  to  Damascus  with  camels  for  sale  to  the 
pilgrims,"  said  he,  "  as  I  am  now  come,  but  then  from 
the  north  and  now  from  the  east,  I  met  two  camels 
at  a  village  by  the  way,  and  loved  them.  I  con- 
sidered those  camels,"  he  continued,  a  finger  touch- 
ing my  sleeve  in  a  way  of  the  faintest,  but  yet  some- 
how more  impressively  than  had  the  man  gripped  my 
wrist — "  I  considered  those  camels,  saddled  with  new 
cloth,  shaved  and  harnessed,  standing  in  the  city 
market  three  days  before  the  pilgrimage,  when  cam- 
els are  bought  foolishly  by  the  anxious,  and  I  loved 
them  more  than  ever.  The  owner  was,  by  the  grace 
of  God,  a  fool,  a  wood-seller,  who  cut  from  the  hills 
and  sold  by  weight  in  the  market,  taking  from  the 
backs  of  his  beasts.  There  is  a  proverb :  A  fool  suc- 
ceeds in  his  own  house,  not  in  trade;  and  the  owner 
of  the  camels  was  a  man  of  that  sort. 

1 '  But,'  said  this  wood-seller,  'I  need  my  two  camels ; 
how  shall  I  carry  wood  to  Damascus  without  them?' 

"It  is  true,'  I  answered,  'that  you  need  your 
camels ;  let  us  not  buy  and  sell,  but  trade,  lest  some 

70 


TALE  OF  THE  NEEDLE  AND  THREAD 

damage  be  done  you.  I  have  here, '  said  I,  *  a  splendid 
beast,  with  which  I  hesitate  to  part,  but  must,  be- 
cause I  love  your  camels;  and  I  will  trade  him,  but 
not  easily,  because  I  loved  him  well  before  I  came  to 
this  place  and  fell  in  love  with  your  beasts.' 

"'I  will  not  trade  two  camels  for  one,'  said  he, 
'even  if  the  one  is  an  ameer's  tkeltil,  because  one 
camel  would  make  my  business  unprofitable.  I  am 
three  days'  journey  from  Damascus,  and  must  have 
two  camels  or  turn  weaver.' 

"You  are  a  wise  man/  said  I,  'and  will  certainly 
get  the  advantage  of  me ;  but  still  I  will  risk  the  loss, 
and  trade  with  you,  for  admiration  has  overcome  me. 
I  will  give  you  my  camel,'  said  I,  'for  the  choice  of 
your  two,  if  you  give  me  two  hundred  piastres  to 
boot.  If  I  did  not  love  your  camels  like  a  fool  I 
should  not  do  it.' 

"I  will  never,'  said  he,  'give  you  two  hundred 
piastres  to  boot;  but  you  may  take  your  choice,  if 
you  will,  so  that  I  may  understand  which  of  my 
camels  is  the  better.  I  am  a  wood-cutter  without 
two  hundred  piastres  to  my  name,  and  I  have  but 
now  taken  my  sister's  sister-in-law  and  five  children 
to  keep,  for  the  man  was  a  fool,  and  permitted  him- 
self to  be  murdered  by  an  enemy  in  Mesopotamia, 
and  the  murderer,  by  God!  paid  no  more  than  an 
English  pound  to  escape.' 

' '  Poor  man ! '  said  I ; '  let  me  examine  your  camels, 
that  you  may  know  which  is  the  better  and  which 
the  worse." 

6  71 


XIV 

CAMEL   FOR   CAMEL 

ABDULLAH  leaned  toward  me  with  an  inquisi- 
I\  tive,  bantering  little  smile.  "The  khawaja  is 
wise,"  said  he,  with  a  coquettish  flirt  of  the  hand; 
"let  him  answer  me  this:  Did  I  tell  the  man  the 
truth  or  a  lie?" 

"Of  course,"  I  answered,  most  heartily,  "you  lied 
like  a  thief!" 

"Not  so,"  he  protested;  "it  was  the  truth." 

"Wherefore?" 

To  express  the  amazement  to  which  he  had  been 
moved  by  my  simplicity,  Abdullah,  in  the  Bedouin 
fashion,  put  the  thumb  and  forefinger  of  his  right 
hand  together,  spreading  the  other  fingers,  and 
ejaculating  "Tst,  tst,  tst!"  slowly  raised  his  hand, 
the  while  lifting  his  eyes  to  heaven.  "  But,  indeed," 
said  he,  at  last,  "the  khawaja  is  inexperienced  in 
trade.  I  would  that  I  might  exchange  camels  with 
him  as  with  the  wood-cutter.  I  told  the  truth  to 
mislead  the  man.  No  lie  is  so  useful  in  trade  as  the 
truth  appearing  as  a  lie. 

"'Trade  the  red  camel,'  I  said;  'but  if  you  know 
about  camels,  keep  the  black,  for  it  is  a  rare  beast.' 

"And  now,  khawaja,  as  I  had  foreseen,"  Abdullah 

72 


CAMEL    FOR    CAMEL 

continued,  in  a  cunning  whisper,  "the  man,  being  a 
fool  in  love  with  his  cunning,  thought  I  had  lied; 
and  he  would  not  trade  the  red  camel,  which  was  the 
worse,  but  must  part  with  the  black,  which  was  the 
camel  of  my  heart's  desire. 

"'The  red  camel  I  love,'  said  he,  'but  the  black 
troubles  me,  and  I  will  bargain  with  you.  Come ! '  said 
he ;  *  lead  me  to  your  camels  that  we  may  make  terms.' 

"  I  thought  the  man  a  simpleton,  and  freely  led 
him  to  rny  camels,  suspecting  no  guile,  but  would 
not  trade  until  a  night  had  passed ;  and  when  he  had 
departed,  khawaja'1 — leaning  close  to  impart  the 
cleverness — "bearing  in  mind  the  future  of  Hassan, 
my  son,  I  planned  to  lame  the  black  camel  that  I 
loved." 

The  flare  of  the  match  with  which  Abdullah  touch- 
ed his  cigarette  illuminated  a  depth  of  self -satisfied 
cunning. 

"That  night,"  said  he,  "I  thrust  a  needle  in  the 
sole  of  the  black  camel's  foot,  choosing  the  black 
from  the  red  in  the  dark  by  my  knowledge  of  the  hind 
legs  of  both,  for  the  red  was  knock-kneed — thrust  the 
needle  deep,  khawaja,  and  closed  and  dusted  the  little 
hole,  so  that  it  could  not  be  detected.  The  device 
was  successful;  in  the  morning  the  man's  camel  was 
lame;  but  so,  by  Allah!  was  mine.  It  is  the  truth, 
by  God  and  Mohammed  the  Messenger  of  God !  My 
camel  was  lame!  When  I  called  to  him  to  rise  I  saw 
that  he  favored  the  left  fore  foot.  Again  and  again, 
khawaja — down  and  up  again ;  but  always  with  the 

73 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

same  result ;  my  camel  had  gone  lame  in  the  night, 
and  was  of  no  value  to  me,  bound  as  I  was  to  Da- 
mascus with  camels  for  sale  to  the  pilgrims. 

*  *  Come ! '  I  said  to  the  owner  of  the  black  camel, 
'let  us  bargain  for  your  beast.' 

"It  would  indeed  be  poor  bargaining/  he  an- 
swered, '  for  my  camel  has  gone  lame ;  but  neverthe- 
less I  will  trade  a  lame  camel  for  a  lame  camel.' 

"  Then  I  knew  that  the  man  had  lamed  my  camel, 
because  he  knew  that  my  camel  was  lame ;  and  I  left 
him,  and  I  discovered  the  thread  which  he  had  tied 
tightly  about  the  left  fore  leg  of  my  camel  near  the 
shoulder,  and  I  cut  the  thread  and  rested  the  beast, 
and  led  him  out  to  trade. 

"'By  Allah!'  cried  the  man,  when  he  saw  my 
camel  sound  upon  his  feet,  'you  have  the  evil  eye, 
and  have  lamed  my  camel.  I  will  hang  a  necklace  of 
blue  beads  about  his  neck  to  cure  him.' 

"  But  on  the  third  day,  there  being  no  virtue  in  the 
beads,  he  begged  me  in  the  name  of  God  to  trade  with 
him,  lest  he  be  left  with  one  camel  to  carry  on  an  un- 
profitable business;  and  I  traded,  to  save  the  man 
from  turning  weaver,  and  with  Hassan,  my  son,  I 
left  that  place  on  my  way  to  Damascus,  with  two 
hundred  piastres  in  my  pocket  and  a  new  camel  of 
price  for  sale  to  the  pilgrims,  which  was  restored 
when  I  drew  the  needle  from  his  foot  and  washed  the 
wound  with  a  'preparation  which  is  my  secret." 

This  much,  for  the  present,  of  Abdullah  from  Ain 
el-Kaum. 

74 


XV 

THE   DUST   OF   MEN 

NEAR  by  the  well  of  Mazaar,  to  which  we  came, 
two  days  beyond  El  Arish,  is  a  melancholy 
tomb,  now  in  decay,  tumbling,  indeed,  to  the  level  of 
the  sand  which  infinitely  encompasses  it.  It  is  even 
deeply  isolated  in  the  midst  of  this  far  desolate  place 
—itself  in  every  part  a  waste  and  isolation.  With 
the  sun  fallen  behind  gray  clouds,  the  east  thick 
with  shadows,  a  sultry  wind  blowing  up,  the  sand 
stirring  uneasily,  here  is,  indeed,  a  neighborhood  of 
gloom  and  ghostly  fears.  The  dome  is  broken,  a 
wall  is  fallen  down,  the  blocks  are  scattered  and  half- 
buried,  sand  has  drifted  in  through  the  great  gap, 
and  the  wind,  entering  at  will,  flutters  the  poor  holy 
shreds  which  the  fingers  of  the  pious  have  knotted 
to  upright  sticks  in  the  performance  of  some  cere- 
mony. Ruined,  forsaken,  and  all,  still  one  may 
fancy  that  once  there  dwelt  at  this  tomb  a  devout 
keeper,  thriving  upon  the  gifts  of  pilgrims  on  the 
way  to  Mecca,  dispensing  charms  and  blessings  in 
return:  this  long  ago,  when  the  road  was  populously 
travelled  by  the  rich  and  truly  pious — not  by  beg- 
garly wanderers  afoot,  as  to-day. 

75 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

No  Bedouin  of  these  wide  parts  can  name  the 
ancient  whose  holiness  is  here  commemorated  and 
made  valuable  to  the  generation  of  this  day. 

"Long  ago,"  they  say,  "there  lived  a  virtuous 
man,  rich  in  piety  and  good  deeds,  whose  bones  lie 
under  this  holy  tomb,  good  company  for  the  bones 
of  us." 

Here  therefore  the  Bedouins  have  their  graveyard. 

There  were  many  mean  graves,  all  abandoned  and 
graceless,  it  seemed  at  first,  but  yet  affectionately 
marked  with  stones  and  little  sticks — so  many  graves 
that  walking  westward  I  did  not  pass  beyond  them, 
nor  could  determine  where  was  the  remotest.  I 
stumbled  over  a  bone — no  more  than  the  thigh  bone, 
happily,  of  some  sick  camel,  deserted,  which  had 
wandered  to  this  place  and  fallen  to  die.  The  sand, 
forever  moving  in  response  to  the  wind,  had  here 
gathered  and  had  there  departed:  here  twice  cover- 
ing, there  exposing,  the  white  bones  of  men.  Upon 
the  grave  within  the  tomb  were  laid  offerings  of  rags 
and  beads  and  copper  coins  (the  inhabitants  of  this 
dry  desert  being  of  the  earth's  most  wretched) ;  and 
I  recall  that  two  crossed  sticks  were  set  above  it— 
a  Christian  symbol  marvellously  out  of  place,  but 
left  undisturbed !  Sometimes  the  bereaved  dug  near 
the  tomb  to  have  the  dead  within  the  shadow  of  its 
sanctity,  whatever  bones  must  be  disturbed;  and 
safely  near  by  was  a  new  grave — that  of  a  young 
girl,  whose  coarse  blue  gown  lay  there  rotting  in  the 

76 


A     CHRISTIAN*     SYMBOL     MARVELLOUSLY     OUT     OF     PLACE 


THE    DUST    OF    MEN 

weather,  according  to  the  custom,  with  such  mean 
treasures  as  a  scrap  of  pink  ribbon — where  got,  God 
knows !— and  a  necklace  of  glass  beads.  The  coins 
with  which  she  had  decorated  her  head-dress  and 
employed  in  coquetry  were  still  attached.  I  won- 
dered that  no  ravenous  beggar — of  whom  many 
wander  past  alone — had  stolen  them.  There  was, 
too,  I  recall,  a  little  triangular  charm  against  the  evil 
eye  and  all  diseases,  which  some  holy  man  had 
written  for  pay  and  this  dead  girl  had  cherished. 

"Here,"  said  I,  to  Sheik  Mirza,  "is  a  great  grave- 
yard." 

"Many  men,"  he  answered,  "have  died." 

"It  is  a  pitiful  necessity,"  I  ventured. 

"  It  is  the  will  of  God,"  said  he. 

I  watched  the  fingers  of  the  wind  take  sand  from 
beneath  a  heap  of  stones  lying  upon  some  grave  in 
protection  from  the  beasts.  "  Where,"  I  asked,  look- 
ing up,  "are  the  souls  of  these  men?" 

"Each,"  he  answered,  "in  its  appointed  place." 

"According  to  the  will  of  God?" 

"Truly,  khawaja!"  he  exclaimed,  softly. 

For  this  man  were  no  mysteries  whatsoever. 

This  Mirza  was  sheik  of  the  wandering  folk  of  all 
that  district — a  man  honored  and  accounted  wise. 
It  seemed  that  his  tribe  had  no  venerated  ancestor, 
as  he  told  me  with  some  little  sign  of  shame,  but  was 
called  the  Tribe  of  Them  That  Had  Heard,  being  in 
the  first  place  gathered  by  accident  from  East  and 

77 


GOING    DOWN    FROM    JERUSALEM 

West.  I  fancied,  then,  that  the  outcasts  of  Egypt 
and  the  Great  Arabian  Desert  had  fathered  it — the 
poor  and  evil,  who,  having  heard  of  this  refuge,  had 
ventured  to  it  and  remained.  They  possessed  flocks 
and  camels  and  some  widely  scattered  groves  of  date- 
palm,  but  these  not  in  abundance;  and  they  were  a 
lean  tribe  in  every  way — because,  said  they,  of  all 
the  deserts  in  all  the  wide  world  no  other  was  as 
sandy  and  dry  and  barren  and  unyielding  as  the 
desert  of  Et  Tih,  into  the  thirst  and  hunger  and  un- 
watered  heat  of  which  God  had  seen  fit  to  cast  them. 
The  sheik  was  captain  and  judge  over  them,  his 
wisdom  the  law;  and  of  his  cunning  judgments 
Mustafa,  the  camel-driver  from  El  Arish,  told  me 
much. 

Once,  said  he,  two  men  came  to  Sheik  Mirza  dis- 
puting. 

"I  am  but  now,"  said  the  one,  "returned  from 
Cairo.  Before  leaving  I  entrusted  my  money-box 
to  the  keeping  of  this  false  friend,  who  now  denies 
receiving  it;  and  as  it  contained  my  whole  fortune, 
I  am  reduced  to  poverty." 

"  It  may  well  be,"  said  Sheik  Mirza,  "  that  you  are 
mistaken.  At  what  place  did  you  give  this  man  the 
money-box?" 

Being  informed  of  this,  the  sheik  inquired  of  the 
accused  whether  or  not  he  knew  the  spot. 

"Truly  not!"  was  the  answer.  "I  have  never 
heard  of  the  place  before." 

"Go  now  to  that  place,"  said  Sheik  Mirza  to  the 

78 


THE    DUST    OF    MEN 

accuser,  "and  ponder  well.  It  may  be  that  you  will 
recall  the  name  of  the  man  to  whom  you  really  en- 
trusted the  money,  for  it  seems  to  me  that  this  poor 
fellow  is  innocent." 

The  man  departed,  leaving  the  accused  in  the 
presence  of  the  sheik  to  await  his  return. 

"It  seems,"  said  Sheik  Mirza,  impatiently,  when 
an  hour  had  passed,  "that  this  man  is  gone  a  long 
time  and  is  idly  wasting  my  time." 

"No,"  was  the  incautious  reply;  "he  has  not  had 
time  to  reach  the  place  and  return." 

"What!"  cried  the  sheik,  in  anger.  "Guilty man 
that  you  are,  you  remember  the  place  where  the 
money  was  entrusted  to  your  care!" 

Mustafa  the  camel-driver  told  me  that  the  man 
made  restitution,  and  was  properly  punished  for  his 
deception.  It  was  much  like  a  tale  of  the  Wise  Cadi 
of  Al  Bursah ;  but  whatever  the  truth  or  entertaining 
mendacity  of  Mustafa  the  camel-driver,  Sheik  Mirza 
nevertheless  delivers  judgments  in  this  wise,  and  of 
such  are  the  disputes  brought  before  him.  Some- 
times his  wisdom  is  sought  from  beyond  his  tribe ;  and 
whether  from  within  or  without,  he  gains  not  only 
honor,  but  a  percentage  of  the  values  involved,  which 
is  something  worth  being  wise  for. 

Here,  now,  at  any  rate,  was  the  wise  Mirza,  ab- 
stracted by  the  tomb  of  the  forgotten  holy  man,  with 
the  graves  of  generations  of  his  people  underfoot 
and  roundabout — the  wind  blowing  from  the  hot, 

79 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

un watered,  and  uninhabitable  desert  to  the  south, 
the  gruesome  silence  relieved  by  nothing  but  the 
unquiet  moving  of  the  sand,  the  sun  falling  from  its 
veil  of  cloud  and  irradiating  it  with  every  gorgeous 
tint,  flinging  more  tender  colors  over  the  rolling  sand- 
hills to  the  remotest  eastern  sky.  I  observed  that  he 
was  more  decently  clad  than  any  Bedouin  of  our 
journey — a  severe  black  gown,  embroidered  with 
black  silk,  gracefully  fitting  a  small  body,  and  dis- 
closing, when  it  fell  apart,  a  clean  white  kamis  be- 
neath. His  kaffiyeh  was  white  and  fresh;  it  was 
thrown  over  his  head,  it  appeared,  with  no  intention 
to  conceal  his  eyes,  but  fell  even  short  of  them — an 
unusual  candor.  He  was  young,  black-bearded, 
having  quick  dark  eyes,  contemplative  and  not 
ashamed,  and  a  delicate  and  religious  cast  of  face:  of 
a  soft  voice  and  way — melancholy  and  incurious  and 
sadly  patient,  like  the  very  desert  that  bred  him. 

Presently  he  looked  up  from  a  protruding  bone 
which  the  sand  was  laboring  to  cover. 

"The  sand  is  restless,"  he  sighed — seeming  in  this 
way  to  open  a  window  of  his  soul.  I  was  enlightened 
to  look  in. 

We  returned,  then,  to  the  tents ;  and  here  reflecting 
upon  this  melancholy  tomb,  I  remembered  the  pious 
merchant  of  Damascus  and  the  story  of  the  Bones  of 
the  White  Ass. 


XVI 

THE   TOMB    OF    THE    WHITE   ASS 

I  MAY  relate  concerning  the  pious  merchant  and 
the  tomb  of  the  white  ass  that  in  Damascus  the 
Interpreter  and  I,  proceeding  aimlessly  in  search  of 
adventure,  entered  a  narrow  street,  traversed  by 
few,  and  there  came  upon  a  curious  sight:  an  old 
man  at  his  bath,  taken  in  the  open  street;  he  was 
saving  his  modesty  as  best  he  could,  to  be  sure,  but 
was  not  abashed,  nor  did  his  strange  employment 
create  so  much  as  a  nutter  of  discomposure  on  the 
thoroughfare.  Having  turned  into  the  silk-bazar,  the 
Interpreter  stopped  to  gossip  with  a  merchant  of 
embroideries,  a  sleek  fellow,  of  pious  inclination ;  but 
the  piety  of  this  man  was  as  nothing  compared  with 
the  devotion  of  his  neighbor  and  competitor.  He 
was  a  cadaverous  object — a  rusty,  frayed  old  fellow 
with  a  long  white  beard  and  deep-sunken  eyes — now 
squatting  in  his  stall,  quite  detached  from  the  affairs 
of  the  market,  being  occupied  with  a  great  book, 
over  which  he  bent,  swaying  and  muttering.  A 
small  apprentice,  who  had  approached  with  cheery 
swagger,  paused  at  the  stall  and  extended  his  hand, 
which  the  pious  old  gentleman  abstractedly  tapped 

81 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

three  times,  not  losing  a  single  syllable  of  his  prayer, 
however,  in  the  operation.  Blessed  in  this  wise,  the 
lad  went  on  his  way,  and  was  succeeded  by  another, 
and  a  third,  and  a  diseased  beggar,  all  of  whom,  in  the 
space  of  three  minutes,  were  tapped  into  an  accession 
of  piety,  and  went  about  their  business,  much  bene- 
fited. 

"He  is  a  Mohammedan  famed  for  his  devotion," 
the  Interpreter  explained,  as  we  walked  away,  "and 
his  blessing  is  much  sought.  It  is  even  said  that  the 
touch  of  his  finger  will  work  cures,  and  that  as  a 
writer  of  charms  against  evil  he  is  not  equalled  in 
the  city.  For  many  years  he  has  sat  in  that  same 
stall,  practising  prayer  and  reading.  He  is  a  holy 
man,  withdrawn  from  the  world,  and  will  doubtless 
have  a  holy  tomb  when  he  dies,  where  the  pious  may 
pray." 

"It  seems,"  said  I,  "that  he  will  hardly  thrive  in 
the  silk  business." 

The  Interpreter  laughed. 

"The  devout,"  I  ventured,  "are  seldom  thrifty." 

"The  recipients  of  his  blessing,"  the  Interpreter 
explained,  softly,  "are  permitted  to  leave  coins  con- 
venient to  his  hand." 

From  the  bazar  we  passed  into  a  winding  street, 
very  narrow,  with  grim  old  houses  on  either  side, 
sometimes  falling  together  at  the  eaves  or  frankly 
bulged  overhead:  so  that  on  this  dull  day  the  way 
was  dark  and  ghostly.  In  an  aperture  from  the 

82 


THE  TOMB  OF  THE  WHITE  ASS 

street  was  an  unkempt  tomb ;  the  branches  of  an  ill- 
thriving  bush  protruded  through  the  bars  of  a  grating 
and  were  cluttered  with  many  high-colored  shreds 
of  cloth,  knotted  tightly.  "Here,"  said  the  Inter- 
preter, "  is  the  grave  of  some  holy  man  of  the  city, 
whose  name  is  doubtless  forgotten,  but  whose  piety 
lives  in  tradition,  into  which  has  entered,  too,  the 
protecting  virtue  of  his  tomb.  The  poor  shreds  upon 
this  holy  bush  are  the  evidences  of  the  vows  and 
prayers  of  passers-by — of  many  travellers,  perhaps 
(for  we  have  come  near  a  gate  of  the  city),  who  have 
turned  aside  to  this  shrine  to  register  their  thankful- 
ness. Indeed,  the  people  are  devout  and  most 
simple,  accepting  the  reputations  of  these  loudly 
pious  folk  without  questioning,  as  the  hermits  and 
holy  men  of  mediaeval  times  were  accepted,  upon 
their  own  statement  of  their  virtues;  and  they  are  in 
consequence  often  misled. 

"There  was  once,"  he  continued,  "a  young  man, 
riding  on  a  white  ass,  whose  beast  fell  exhausted 
on  a  main -travelled  road,  and  there  instantly  ex- 
pired. 

" '  I  will  bury  this  unfaithful  ass/  thought  he,  'lest 
I  get  no  sympathy  from  passing  travellers,  who  will 
suppose  that  I  have  ridden  him  cruelly.' 

"No  sooner  had  he  accomplished  this  than  a 
benevolent  man  appeared  and  demanded  to  know  the 
occasion  of  his  grief. 

' '  My  uncle,'  replied  the  youth,  '  an  aged  and  most 
reverend  man,  being  upon  a  pious  pilgrimage  be- 

83 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

yond  his  strength,  has  here  died  by  the  wayside,  and 
I  have  buried  him.' 

'"It  is  meet,'  said  the  benevolent  traveller,  'that 
a  man  of  these  holy  accomplishments  should  have  a 
tomb  in  keeping  with  his  piety,  and  I  will  contribute 
my  purse  to  this  worthy  end.' 

"  The  traveller  rode  off  upon  his  journey,  informing 
all  whom  he  met  of  the  lamentable  decease  of  this 
most  holy  pilgrim,  and  so  fast  and  affectingly  did 
the  tale  grow,  so  far  did  it  spread,  so  rich  were  the 
gifts  it  elicited,  that  the  youth  was  presently  estab- 
lished in  a  splendid  tomb  over  the  grave  of  the 
humble  white  ass,  where  he  began  to  grow  stout  and 
wealthy,  thereby  exciting  the  envy  of  a  rival,  who 
resided  in  the  tomb  of  his  grandfather,  near  by. 

" '  Come ! '  said  this  man ;  '  show  me  the  sacred  bones 
of  your  pious  uncle,  that  I  may  understand  their 
virtue/ 

'"As  we  are  of  the  same  pious  profession,  brother,' 
replied  the  youth,  '  and  as  it  has  occurred  to  me  that 
we  may  profit  together,  I  may  tell  you  frankly  that 
my  holy  bones  are  the  bones  of  a  white  ass.' 

"'Is  it  indeed  so?*  cried  the  other. 

" '  My  conscience  accuses  me,'  continued  the  youth, 
'and  I  would  gladly  have  you  join  with  me,  con- 
tributing the  relics  of  your  saintly  grandfather  to  my 
establishment.' 

"'Alas!'  replied  the  other;  'though  you  have  only 
the  bones  of  a  humble  white  ass,  I  have  no  bones  at 
all!'" 

84 


XVII 

THROUGH   THE   SALT   SWAMP 

MEANTIME  they  had  made  camp  by  the  well. 
The  rugs  were  spread  ready  on  the  sand  by  the 
khawaja's  tent — the  beloved  Blue  Rug  and  the  Little 
Gem  and  that  poor  nondescript  which  the  younger 
khawaja  (having  taken  in  haste)  had  contemptuously 
called  the  Dish  Rag,  but  loved  like  a  mongrel  dog. 
These  were  of  Damascus,  hard  sought,  acquired  with 
delight,  familiar,  much  loved,  making  home  of  every 
desolate  camping-place  on  the  long  road  from  Da- 
mascus to  this  gloomy  well  of  Mazaar  in  Egypt :  now 
lying  on  the  creamy  sand,  with  the  low  sunlight  set- 
ting them  aglow — beautiful  in  these  circumstances 
as  the  sunset  clouds  beyond  the  ruined  tomb,  seem- 
ing, indeed,  a  soft  reflection  of  their  colors.  Here 
sat  we  with  the  Sheik  Mirza  and  the  four  elders  of 
his  tribe  while  the  ceremonial  three  cups  of  coffee 
were  drunk  and  the  formal  compliments  exchanged. 
They  were  encamped  near  by,  it  seemed — half  an 
hour,  an  hour,  who  could  tell  ?  the  distance  was  to  be 
measured  by  the  energy  of  a  man  and  the  urgency 
of  his  wish  to  be  there.  The  tribesmen  were  off  with 
the  flocks  to  good  pasturage ;  but  the  sheik  remained, 

85 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

in  company  with  these  wise  elderly  persons,  to  pre- 
serve order,  to  pass  judgment,  and  the  like,  in  the 
event  of  such  unhappy  need.  A  poor  habitation, 
said  he — a  mean,  impoverished  housing  and  enter- 
tainment, a  place  unfit  for  the  shoes  of  the  dis- 
tinguished to  press,  offensive  to  the  eye  and  heart  of 
any  man,  withholding  to  the  stomach.  Never  be- 
fore, indeed,  said  they,  had  a  considerable  sheik  of 
Et  Tih  been  reduced  to  a  depth  of  squalor  so  re- 
pugnant to  the  high-born  and  wealthy  as  in  this  very 
instance. 

Sheik  Mirza,  as  I  knew,  would  have  been  no 
polite  Bedouin  had  he  not  defamed  his  own  state 
and  possessions. 

"Come!"  I  yielded  to  this  left-handed  entreaty; 
"  we  will  take  coffee  in  your  tent  when  the  sun  is 
gone  down." 

They  held  up  their  hands  in  admiration  of  this 
infinitely  generous  condescension. 

"It  is  impossible!"  cried  they,  revealing  in  this 
a  flattering  comprehension  of  the  splendor  to  which 
the  khawaja  was  accustomed;  "it  is  impossible — the 
place  is  not  worthy." 

"Still,"  said  I,  firmly,  "we  will  do  it." 

"The  thing,"  Mirza  protested,  "  would  demean  the 
khawaja." 

I  perceived  in  this  a  compliment  to  the  khawajcfs 
riches  and  power,  and  to  the  sweet  and  anxious 
luxury  in  which  he  customarily  dwelt. 

"Nevertheless,"  said  I,  doggedly,  determined  to 

86 


THROUGH    THE    SALT    SWAMP 

be  as  polite  as  the  situation  demanded,  "  we  will  ride 
out  in  the  cool  of  the  evening." 

Sheik  Mirza  went  off  in  a  hostly  perturbation 
needing  no  words  to  interpret;  and  so  concerned  were 
the  elders  that  I  was  moved  to  pity  their  anxiety. 
It  was,  however,  a  departure  wholly  dignified ;  there 
had  been  no  haste  or  blundering,  no  failure  of  man- 
ners, no  lessening  of  self-respect,  no  hint  of  ob- 
sequiousness; the  ancient  forms  had  been  observed 
in  a  fashion  the  most  punctilious — soft  phrases, 
significant  and  grateful,  falling  upon  unaccustomed 
ears.  I  watched  the  little  group  move  slowly  over 
the  sand — a  grave  departure,  the  young  sheik  lead- 
ing, according  to  his  degree,  the  elders  respectfully 
following.  They  passed  over  the  ridge  of  a  great 
sand-drift  with  no  fickle  backward  turning.  I  was 
impressed  with  the  dignity  and  understanding  and 
power  'of  them  in  their  own  place.  They  were  in 
perfect  harmony,  it  seemed,  with  the  desert  into 
which  they  had  vanished. 

It  had  been  the  unhappy  custom  of  our  followers 
as  we  travelled  these  far  and  simple  parts  to  mis- 
represent us  in  their  own  glorification;  nor  could  I 
put  a  stop  to  it,  whatever  I  might  say.  We  ex- 
changed greetings  with  whomsoever  we  met,  and 
having  passed  the  customary  compliments,  would 
then  inquire  concerning  the  travellers'  degree  and 
destination.  Observing  our  stout  caravan  and  opu- 
lently laden  pack-mules,  or  coming  upon  our  camp 
7  87 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

at  night,  these  native  folk  would  satisfy  their  curi- 
osity, which  was  indeed  of  a  thirsty  and  intimate 
sort.  We  began  modestly  enough :  at  Hebron  we  were 
simple  travellers,  bound  down  to  Egypt ;  but  on  the 
plains  beyond  Beersheba  we  had  acquired  a  mysteri- 
ous mission,  having  to  do,  I  was  amazed  to  learn, 
possibly  with  the  betterment  of  all  the  Bedouin  far- 
mers thereabouts :  this  knowledge  Aboosh,  the  Inter- 
preter, gave  me  with  much  glee,  having  caught  it 
from  the  lips  of  the  big  muleteer,  who  was  speaking 
confidentially  in  the  ear  of  a  pilgrim.  Having  cross- 
ed the  border  into  Egypt,  we  had  climbed  a  rung 
higher,  and  by  so  much  was  the  importance  of  our 
servants  exaggerated:  our  mission  was  now  a  grave 
reality;  we  were  in  the  confidence  of  the  Egyptian 
government;  it  behooved  all  persons  to  honor  and 
placate  us — khawaja,  men,  and  mules. 

And  now,  here  by  the  well  of  Mazaar.  as  the  sheik 
went  off,  I  turned  curiously  upon  Aboosh. 

"Look  here!"  said  I,  abruptly,  "  will  you  please 
tell  me  what  is  my  station  in  life  at  the  present 
moment?" 

He  laughed. 

"Out  with  it!"  I  insisted. 

"You  are  a  high  English  judge,"  he  replied, 
"travelling  for  pleasure  and  information." 

"How  high?"  I  asked. 

"I  think,"  he  answered,  gently,  "that  there  is  no 
more  important  in  all  England." 

"By  whom  have  I  been  exalted?" 

88 


THROUGH    THE    SALT    SWAMP 

"It  was  Corporal  Ali,  this  time,"  said  he.  "He 
was  a  Prince  in  the  Soudan  before  he  enlisted. 
Doubtless  he  chooses  to  serve  a  distinguished  mas- 
ter." 

This  was  a  Soudanese  from  El  Arish,  a  sentinel 
and  guide — a  sharp-witted,  English-trained  soldier 
of  the  garrison,  who  blacked  his  legs,  I  used  to  fancy, 
with  stove-polish  every  morning.  It  was  a  pleasant 
invention  of  his,  founded,  no  doubt,  upon  our  in- 
timacy with  the  colonel ;  but  I  would  have  none  of  it. 
I  commanded  that  Sheik  Mirza  should  instantly  be 
enlightened  and  relieved;  and  Ali  was  dispatched 
upon  this  mission,  having  been  sworn  by  the  beard 
of  the  Prophet  to  fulfil  it  righteously.  Upon  his 
return  I  was  chagrined  to  learn  that  the  rumor  of 
our  high  station  had  not  come  to  the  ears  of  the 
sheik — who  had  thereupon  naturally  drawn  his  own 
conclusion  that  the  rumor  was  true.  An  exalted 
judge,  then,  was  I,  the  younger  khawaja  my  secretary. 

We  rode  out  after  sunset,  Aboosh  (the  admirable 
dragoman)  and  the  younger  khawaja  and  I,  with 
Rachid  afoot — that  ragged  vagabond  and  poet  of 
Jerusalem  who  had  followed  our  camp  from  Beer- 
sheba. 

"The  khawaja  will  indulge  me!"  he  begged. 
"Here  am  I,  poor  Rachid,  going  down  from  Jeru- 
salem into  Egypt  to  see  the  world,  riding  upon  his 
own  poor,  weary  feet;  and  shall  he  then  miss  the 
sight  of  a  very  sheik  of  this  wild  desert  in  his  black 

89 


GOING    DOWN    FROM    JERUSALEM 

tent  of  hair?  Ah,  but  the  khawaja  will  surely  in- 
dulge his  poor  faithful  poet  and  story-teller!" — and 
here  was  this  beloved  Rachid,  striding  ahead  with 
the  guide  of  Mirza. 

The  wind  was  gone  down ;  the  clouds  were  all  van- 
ished from  the  western  sky;  a  clear  twilight  it  was, 
still  and  colorless,  with  the  first  stars  surely  appear- 
ing in  the  round,  velvet  sky,  and  a  full  moon  immi- 
nent under  the  horizon.  We  presently  passed  from 
deep  sand  to  a  salt  swamp — a  flat,  dismal,  reedy, 
stagnant  expanse,  foul  in  the  midst  of  the  clean 
desert.  There  were  pools  encrusted  with  a  strange 
slime,  not  green  and  familiar,  but  of  a  crisp  and 
ghastly  white ;  and  albeit  the  ground  was  hard  under- 
foot, it  was  slippery  and  clammy  and  as  treacher- 
ously given  as  the  rotting  ice  of  some  disgusting 
pond.  In  the  failing  light,  with  night  swiftly  falling 
and  the  way  uncertain,  here  was  no  grateful  path, 
but  a  repulsive  desolation  of  the  world — a  place  of 
false  water  and  horribly  unnatural-appearing  vegeta- 
tion. 

We  followed  Mirza's  guide,  who  led  carelessly,  up- 
lifted from  his  task,  it  seemed,  by  the  engaging  con- 
versation of  Rachid.  The  place  was  like  a  quick- 
sand; disaster  waited  upon  any  deviation  from  the 
bewildering  road;  the  progress  was  at  best  over  a 
crust,  with  a  grasping  depth  of  salt  mire  beneath. 
The  younger  khawaja' s  camel  broke  through  to  his 
belly,  and  I  made  sure  that  a  delicate  leg  would  be 
broken;  but  for  a  moment  the  beast  rested,  awaiting, 

90 


THROUGH    THE    SALT    SWAMP 

it  seemed,  the  worst  of  his  situation ;  then  with  amaz- 
ingly patient  and  intelligent  caution  he  got  to  solid 
ground,  grunting  a  bit,  in  a  satisfied  way,  and  gravely 
proceeded  as  though  nothing  had  happened,  giving 
the  same  impression  of  stupidity  as  before. 

My  horse  floundered  in  the  camel's  wake;  he  plung- 
ed in  alarm,  continuing  to  cry  and  strive,  and  must 
be  cleverly  persuaded  from  his  dangerous  predica- 
ment. I  recall  that  his  terror  had  not  passed,  that 
he  was  trembling  and  uneasy,  when  I  remounted, 
wet  to  the  waist.  We  were  glad  to  be  away  from 
this  flat,  salty  swamp  to  the  deep  sand  of  the  desert 
which  we  had  heretofore  cursed  for  its  difficulty.  It 
was  not  so  greatly  an  escape  from  tedium  and  peril 
that  gratified  us,  I  think ;  it  was  the  leaving  behind — 
like  a  disgustful  thing,  come  unexpected,  forever 
done  with — of  a  place  horrible  because  of  its  treach- 
ery, not  seeking,  but  repugnantly  indifferent ;  because 
of  its  breathless  and  slimy  stagnancy,  fruitful  only  in 
unnaturalness. 


XVIII 

A    SHEIK   OF   ET    TIH 

TT  was  grown  dark;  but  the  rim  of  the  moon  was 
1  appearing  above  the  black  and  cloudy  rolling 
outline  of  the  desert  —  that  sandy  barren  which 
for  these  ten  days  had  been  a  distance  whose  hot 
horizon  had  yet  to  be  achieved.  There  was  a  low 
hill,  deep  for  the  horses,  a  struggle  to  surmount ;  then 
a  grove  of  date-palm,  lying  in  a  hollow,  with  moonlit 
places — a  thin  grove,  springing  from  the  sand,  with- 
out a  well  or  any  blade  of  grass.  Here  was  the  habi- 
tation of  the  wise  Sheik  Mirza  —  a  small,  square 
enclosure,  in  the  midst  of  the  grove,  walled  with 
palm  leaves  skilfully  woven.  The  women's  quarters 
were  near  by,  but  yet  did  not  intrude  upon  the 
masculine  importance,  so  that  the  sheik  dwelt  aloof 
from  his  wives,  in  the  way  of  the  roosterish  men  of 
those  parts,  who  will  tolerate  no  lessening  of  the 
majesty  of  their  sex. 

Sheik  Mirza's  dwelling  was  partitioned  in  two; 
there  was  a  guest-place  by  the  gate,  where  the  coffee 
fire  was  now  glowing,  and  an  inner  sleeping-chamber : 
these  all  open  to  the  sky,  save  that  the  couch  was 
sheltered  with  a  black  cloth  of  goat's  hair,  and  some 

92 


A    SHEIK    OF    ET    TIH 

part  of  the  outer  room  was  roofed  with  a  thatch  of 
leaves.  It  was  all  swept  clean  against  our  coming. 
I  was  reminded  of  a  child's  play-house  by  the  mud 
floor  and  tiny  proportions;  it  seemed,  I  fancied,  that 
some  housewifely  little  maid  had  but  now  swept  and 
put  to  rights.  But  this  tender  fancy  was  soon  dis- 
pelled by  the  sight  of  Mirza's  grave,  dark  face,  bent 
over  the  coffee  fire,  which  he  was  nursing  to  a  blaze. 
We  were  then  seated  in  a  circle  about  the  fire  with 
the  elders;  and,  presently,  for  our  thirst  was  coffee, 
and  for  our  hunger  a  bowl  of  crushed  dates:  where- 
upon we  ate  and  drank  and  heavily  smoked,  and 
were  for  a  long  time  silent. 

No  breath  of  wind  was  stirring;  the  palm  leaves 
were  listless  and  still,  the  sand  inert,  the  whole  world 
voiceless.  Beyond  the  gate  of  the  enclosure  and  the 
trunks  and  shadows  of  the  grove  the  desert  went 
white  and  vacant  to  the  far-off  rising  yellow  moon, 
with  no  vegetation  to  interrupt  the  misty  sweep,  nor 
any  living  thing  to  break  the  heavy-lying  pause  and 
silence.  Presently,  turning  from  this  languorous 
prospect,  I  put  a  shocking  question  to  the  sheik.  It 
was  direct  and  abrupt  in  the  Western  way,  and  im- 
pious. The  man  was  startled  and  concerned;  the 
elders  of  his  tribe  were  troubled  with  suspicion — a 
mere  flash  of  impoliteness,  however,  instantly  con- 
trolled, but  disclosing  a  very  gulf  of  difference  be- 
tween these  Arabs  and  our  Western  minds  and  ways. 

"Do  you  believe  in  God?"  I  asked. 

93 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

"  Truly,  khawaja!''  Sheik  Mirza  answered,  pity- 
ingly. 

''There  is  but  one  God  and  Mohammed  is  His 
Prophet,"  the  elders  pattered,  according  to  the  form. 

Some  uneasiness  still  remained  upon  the  little 
group,  appearing  mostly  in  restless,  questioning 
glances  exchanged ;  but  the  sheik  was  placidly  re- 
garding me,  at  any  rate,  and  I  proceeded,  rudely,  as 
before. 

"Why?"  I  demanded. 

Sheik  Mirza  mused.  "God  willing,"  he  replied, 
gently,  "I  will  answer  your  question:  I  look  up  at 
the  stars." 

It  was  a  good  answer. 

I  remembered  what  the  sheik's  tribesmen  had  said 
of  their  situation  in  this  thirsty  barren.  "Come!" 
said  I,  boldly;  "is  this  God  a  beneficent  God?" 

"Truly,  khawaja!" 

I  caught  in  the  answer  some  expression  of  pain. 
It  was  an  amazed  ejaculation,  too,  and  might  have 
been  voiced  in  horror  and  resentment  had  the  polite- 
ness of  the  sheik  been  less;  but  he  was  a  mild  man, 
and  spoke  gently,  yet  lifting  his  hands,  involuntarily, 
in  some  anxious  protest  against  blasphemy. 

"Do  your  people  go  lean  of  hunger?"  I  asked. 

"It  is  true,"  said  he;  "they  die  of  hunger  and 
thirst  in  this  desert." 

"Are  there  deformities  among  you?" 

"Truly,  khawaja:  we  have  the  blind  and  the  im- 

94 


A    SHEIK    OF    ET    TIH 

becile   and  the   crippled,  according  to  the   will  of 
God." 

"Are  men  good  or  evil  according  as  their  fathers 
were?" 

"It  is  indeed  true  in  some  cases." 

"Listen!"  said  I. 

"God  willing,"  he  responded,  drawing  nearer. 
"I  will  carefully  listen." 

"Are  the  poor  oppressed?"  I  began,  recollecting, 
as  completely  as  might  be  at  that  moment,  every 
woe  of  life  I  knew;  "are  the  weak  ravished?  do 
mothers  die  in  childbed  ?  do  sons  despite  their  fathers  ? 
do  youths  love  hopelessly?  do  children  die  by  acci- 
dent? is  labor  unrewarded  and  ambition  thwarted? 
is  there  a  merciless  envy  and  greed  in  your  tribe 
which  will  not  yield  to  correction?  are  there  not 
hands  ready  for  the  murder  of  the  unwary  and 
thievery  from  the  unprotected?  are  not  evil  men 
triumphant  among  you  and  the  virtuous  ones  victims 
of  the  vile?" — and  here  my  poor  catalogue  of  com- 
plaints came  to  its  untimely  and  painful  conclusion. 

"These  things,"  said  Sheik  Mirza,  gravely,  "hap- 
pen by  the  will  of  God." 

"Here,  then,  surely,"  said  I,  "is  injustice." 

"There  is  no  injustice,"  he.  replied;  "it  is  but  a 
seeming." 

uThe  tears,"  I  protested,  "are  real  enough!" 

"Truly,  khowaja,"  said  he,  gently. 

"How,  then,"  I  demanded,  to  try  him,  "can  you 
say  that  God  is  good?" 

95 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

For  a  moment  Sheik  Mirza  pondered  heavily, 
stirring  the  dying  coals  of  the  coffee  fire.  "  God  will- 
ing," he  replied,  looking  up  at  last,  "I  will  answer 
your  question :  Lives  there  a  man  wiser  than  God  who 
shall  sit  in  judgment  upon  the  acts  of  God?" 

It  was  an  excellent  answer,  I  thought. 

There  ensued  a  brief  catechism,  and  though  we 
sat  in  a  desert,  guests  of  this  Mohammedan,  question 
and  answer — the  Q.  and  A.  of  the  nearly  forgotten 
book — seemed  yet  familiar.  I  began  it,  as  a  whim, 
in  this  way:  "What,"  said  I,  "is  the  chief  end  of 
man?" 

"To  serve  God,  khawaja." 

"What  ambition,"  I  asked,  "do  you  cherish?" 

"To  serve  God." 

"  What  most  do  you  desire  in  all  the  world?" 

"To  serve  God  perfectly." 

"What  most  do  you  fear?" 

"To  fail  to  serve  Him." 

"How  shall  a  man  best  use  his  life?" 

"In  the  service  of  God." 

"  How  shall  a  man  serve  God  ?" 

"  If  his  life  be  an  example  of  pious  resignation." 

"How,"  said  I,  "shall  a  man  be  happy  in  this 
world?" 

"It  is  not  hard,  khawaja;  if  he  live  temperately, 
he  will  surely  be  happy." 

"What  good  do  you  seek  for  your  tribe?" 

"God  willing,"  he  replied,  quickly,  "I  will  an- 

96 


A    SHEIK    OF    ET    TIH 

swer  your  question:  To  have  my  people  live  at 
peace." 

''And  in  prosperity?" 

"It  is  the  self -same  thing,"  said  he. 

The  sheik's  young  son  came  in,  curiosity  having 
got  the  better  of  his  shyness  at  last;  he  sidled  con- 
fidently to  his  father,  and  was  there  embraced  (in 
the  way  of  these  Arab  fathers) .  Presently  he  had 
snuggled  close  to  his  father's  feet,  and  was  become 
one  of  our  company.  I  inquired,  then,  in  a  blunder- 
ing way,  concerning  the  boy's  education:  Would  he 
be  sent  to  the  schools  in  Cairo? 

"He  was  born  here,"  was  the  answer. 

"What  matter?" 

"  He  will,  then,  truly  live  here." 

"It  is  the  custom  of  the  Western  fathers,"  I 
ventured,  "to  advance  their  sons  above  them- 
selves." 

" How  may  this  be  done?"  he  asked. 

"It  is  said,"  I  replied,  "that  the  education  of  the 
schools  promotes  it." 

"If  I  send  my  son  away  to  the  schools,"  he  an- 
swered, like  a  man  who  had  pondered  much  upon  the 
problem  and  become  resolved,  "I  shall  accomplish 
his  ruin.  If  I  send  him  away,  he  will  either  remain 
away  or  return;  if  he  remain,  he  will  be  forever  un- 
happy, having  been  born  to  the  freedom  of  this  airy 
desert;  if  he  return,  he  will  be  forever  unhappy  also, 
having  tasted  indulgence,  having  been  corrupted  by 
the  luxury  of  the  city.  Now,  if  I  send  my  son  away 

97 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

to  the  schools,  and  if  he  remain  away,  he  will  either 
succeed  or  fail  in  life.  But  how,  born  in  this  desert, 
shall  he  succeed,  being  forever  at  a  disadvantage  in 
an  alien  place  ?  If  he  succeed,  what  shall  compensate 
him  for  the  stress  and  confinement  he  must  suffer? 
He  must  live  in  a  room;  but  how  shall  he  endure  to 
live  in  a  room  ?  And  if  he  fail,  what  then  shall  become 
of  him  ?  I  will  keep  my  son  with  his  tribesmen  in  the 
sand,  that  he  may  be  strong  and  courageous  and  free. 
Here  we  dwell  content,  cultivating  our  few  dates, 
raising  our  flocks  in  peace,  exchanging  our  poor 
wealth  for  the  corn  and  cloth  of  other  places,  so 
satisfying  all  our  simple  needs.  What  shall  a 
man  want  more  than  his  freedom?  We  are  op- 
pressed neither  by  labor  nor  wicked  men;  and  we 
live  in  our  own  place,  according  to  the  will  of 
God." 

"You  are,  then,  content  with  the  life  you  have 
lived?" 

"It  is  so." 

"And  would  live  it  over  again,  deed  for  deed,  day 
by  day,  as  you  have  lived  it,  since  the  begin- 
ning?" 

"Truly,  khawaja!" 

My  question  had  never  before  been  answered  in 
this  way.  I  was  amazed. 

"What  is  the  explanation  of  your  contentment?" 
I  demanded. 

He  looked  up  bewildered. 

"Why,"  I  repeated,  "are  you  content?" 
-    98 


A    SHEIK    OF    ET    TIH 

"God  willing,'*  he  replied,  enlightened,  "I  will 
answer  your  question:  I  live  where  I  was  born." 

It  seemed,  after  all,  as  we  rode  back,  a  good  place 
to  live.  It  was  wide  and  clean  and  far  remote  from 
noise  and  strife  and  fervent  wishing  and  any  throng. 
Nothing  clamored,  nothing  pressed,  nothing  suffered, 
nothing  pursued,  nor  was  there  sight  or  sound  of 
despair.  Neither  right  nor  wrong  presented  itself; 
there  was  neither  wisdom  nor  folly  in  the  world,  no 
appeal,  no  demand,  no  contrary  opinion,  neither 
warning  nor  invitation.  Fear  was  gone  with  hope; 
expectation  had  failed — there  was  no  future  beyond 
the  casual  glance  ahead.  And,  to  be  sure,  the  desert 
was  a  beautiful  and  grateful  place  to  ride  in  that  night 
—a  soft  path,  followed  without  haste  or  handling  of 
the  reins. 

The  moon  was  high,  the  farther  heavens  soft  and 
deep  and  all  alight  with  brilliant  stars.  We  skirted 
the  salt  marsh,  riding  slowly  and  in  silence  through 
a  perfect  silence.  A  little  wind  blew  up — no  more 
than  a  cooling  breeze,  coming  in  puffs  from  the  direc- 
tion of  the  sea.  They  were  long  ago  all  gone  to  sleep 
in  the  camp ;  and  when  we  were  dismounted,  when  the 
horses  and  camel  were  tethered,  when  Aboosh  was 
stowed  away,  when  Rachid  was  snuggled  beneath 
his  rug,  when  the  younger  khawaja  was  stretched 
out  to  sleep,  I  walked  apart,  where  was  no  glimpse 
of  the  tents.  The  wind  was  still  blowing,  but  not 
risen — a  gentle  stirring  of  the  night  air :  no  more  than 

99 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

that.  But  the  sand  was  moving :  I  listened,  with  my 
ear  close — and  I  could  hear  the  low  swish  of  the 
grains. 

To  the  remotest  places  of  the  wide  white  circle  of 
the  world  the  sand  was  moving. 

"The  sand  is  restless,"  I  sighed,  echoing  the  mel- 
ancholy of  Sheik  Mirza. 


XIX 

THE   CONTENTED   MAN 

WE  moved  early  next  day,  as  was  our  habit, 
bound  now  to  Bir  el-Abd  (Well  of  the  Slave). 
In  the  first  hours  we  rode  in  silence,  as  always, 
sleep  being  still  heavy  upon  us  and  the  day  not 
yet  broken.  I  remembered  the  contentment  of 
Sheik  Mirza,  and  then  I  recalled  a  contented  man 
of  Damascus.  I  had  come  in  from  the  street  (I  re- 
call), where  the  wind  was  blowing  wet  and  cold  from 
the  hills.  Night  was  near  come.  It  was  already 
dark  in  the  canopied  bazars;  the  Long  Street — by 
some  still  fancifully  called  Straight — was  silent:  all 
the  little  hammers  idle,  all  the  little  apprentices  gone 
off  to  bed.  The  parade  and  bargaining  were  over 
for  the  day;  the  stalls  were  shuttered,  the  shop- 
keepers shuffling  home.  A  gloomy  night,  this;  and 
by  the  dusk  and  vacancy  of  the  streets  was  the  wet 
wind  made  the  more  disheartening.  In  the  great 
chamber  of  our  dwelling,  however,  Shukri  had  the 
lamp  alight  and  the  fire  crackling.  It  was  all  warm 
and  softly  aglow  and  familiar:  made  home  to  us  by 
the  rugs  and  tapestries  we  had  gathered,  and  by 
the  younger  khawaja's  vessels  of  brass  and  copper, 

IOI 


GOING    DOWN    FROM    JERUSALEM 

now  reflecting  the  lamplight,  each  with  its  peculiar 
lustre. 

The  younger  khawaja  and  that  Taufik  who  served 
him  were  not  yet  returned.  They  had  fallen,  then 
(I  fancied),  upon  some  entertaining  adventure — 
there  was  now  no  light  abroad  for  the  khawaja' s  can- 
vas and  colors.  I  drew  the  Blue  Bokhara  close  to  the 
fire  and  there  lay  down,  listening  to  the  chatter  of 
the  blaze  and  to  the  rain  on  the  panes;  and  I  was 
much  moved,  I  recall,  by  the  blind  man's  story  of 
the  Canoun  and  the  Angel  (which  I  shall  presently 
relate),  and  wished  that  the  uplifted  mood  might 
find  expression  in  some  deed.  Upon  this  musing  the 
younger  khawaja  burst  in,  as  though  escaping  pur- 
suit, his  eyes  at  the  widest,  his  cap  askew  on  the  back 
of  his  head,  his  cane  waving  in  a  frenzy  of  emotion; 
and  I  knew,  knowing  him,  that  some  encounter  of 
the  queer  streets  we  traversed  had  mightily  stirred 
him. 

" Awful!"  he  ejaculated,  in  his  extravagant  way. 
"I  tell  you  it  was  fearful — terrible — horrible!" 

It  seems  that  the  younger  khawaja  and  Taufik, 
wandering  home  from  a  khan  of  the  camel-drivers, 
had  chosen  the  winding  by-streets ;  and  having  come 
part  way  most  deviously,  had  paused  where  two 
alleys  met  in  a  gloomy  archway,  whence  a  narrower 
lane,  lying  between  high  gray  walls,  led  to  a  deep 
obscurity,  promising  no  outlet.  While  they  de- 
bated— the  predicament  appearing  awkward  in  the 
gathering  night — the  younger  khawaja  chanced  to 

IO2 


THE    CONTENTED    MAN 

observe  a  glow  of  red-hot  light  in  the  shadows  near  by. 
It  issued  from  the  end  of  the  lane,  which  terminated, 
as  they  now  observed,  in  an  underground  chamber, 
to  which  it  fell  by  way  of  a  broken  stairway  of  broad 
stones.  Presently  within,  the  younger  khawaja 
discovered  himself  below  one  of  the  baths  of  the 
city,  from  the  heating  furnace  of  which  proceeded 
that  hot  and  varying  glow  which  had  attracted 
him. 

Here  was  an  old  man — as  instantly  appeared  from 
the  quality  of  his  voice,  being  lifted  timidly  to  de- 
mand what  presence  had  disturbed  him — an  old,  old 
man,  lying  outstretched  on  his  belly  upon  a  heap  of 
chopped  straw  at  the  little  round  mouth  of  the  fur- 
nace, which  was  no  more  than  a  hole  in  the  wall.  He 
was  employed,  it  seemed,  in  thrusting  the  straw 
through  the  aperture,  a  handful  at  a  time,  so  that 
it  fell,  a  continuous  stream,  upon  the  fire  below. 
There  was  no  one  else  about:  the  old  man  was  lying 
quite  alone  in  the  dark,  which  was  hot  and  dusty 
and  most  foul  to  smell. 

"It  is  a  wretched  labor,"  said  the  younger  kha- 
waja. 

"  Not  so,"  answered  the  old  man;  "  it  is  a  labor  for 
which  I  thank  God,  since,  though  I  am  old,  I  am  not 
yet  turned  beggar." 

The  khawaja  would  know  the  reward. 

"Sufficient  to  my  small  need,"  was  the  reply. 

Sixpence  a  day! 

"Have  you  no  helper?" 
s  103 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

"  There  are  little  children  hereabout,  who  play  at 
pushing  straw  through  the  hole;  and  they  give  me 
rest  in  the  day,  sometimes." 

"What!"  cried  the  kkawaja,  "you  labor  by  night 
and  by  day?" 

"Truly,  khawaja,  with  much  thankfulness  to  God 
for  the  opportunity.  I  must  be  diligent  lest  trouble 
befall  me." 

"What  trouble  menaces?"  asked  the  khawaja. 

"  The  keeper  of  the  baths,"  was  the  answer,  "  might 
turn  me  off." 

"Have  you  no  sleep  at  all?" 

"When  the  fire  is  hot,"  said  the  old  man,  "  I  may 
sleep  a  little;  and  sometimes  I  forget  myself  and 
sleep  against  my  will." 

"How  long,"  demanded  the  kkawaja,  "have  you 
lain  here?" 

"Since  before  I  went  blind  of  this  dust." 

"The  number  of  these  years?" 

"  God  has  privileged  me  with  the  favor  of  the  bath- 
keeper  for  these  eight  years." 

"Friend,"  inquired  the  khawaja,  amazed,  "do  you 
dwell  content  with  your  lot?" 

"Thanks  be  to  God!"  the  old  man  replied. 

The  younger  khawaja  gave  the  old  man  a  gold 
piece,  and  must  then  all  at  once  take  to  his  heels  to 
escape  that  agony  of  gratitude. 

"Come!"  I  said,  when  the  younger  khawaja  had 
related  his  adventure;  "we  have  this  day  both  been 

104 


THE    CONTENTED    MAN 

fortunate:  I  have  been  delighted  with  a  story,  and 
you  have  done  a  deed," 

"Tell  me  the  story,"  said  he. 

"I  will  tell  the  story,"  I  answered,  "if  you  will 
share  the  deed." 

To  this  he  assented;  and  I  told  him  the  story  of 
the  angel  and  the  canoun  and  the  little  blind  Musa 
who  had  wandered  the  streets  beseeching. 


XX 

THE  CANOUN  AND  THE  ANGEL 

IT  was  in  Damascus  that  I  heard  the  story,  and 
on  a  drear  day:  now  had  come  a  cold  wind  upon 
the  city — November  weather,  blowing  from  the  Leb- 
anon hills,  where,  by  all  travellers'  tales,  snow  had 
deeply  fallen.  It  was  raining  in  gusty  showers  from 
a  low  gray  sky;  the  town  was  drenched  and  splashed 
and  shivering — the  canopies  leaking,  the  ragged  trees 
adrip,  the  streets  sluggish  rivers  of  mud.  From  the 
balcony  window  the  prospect  was  mean  enough :  dis- 
heartened dogs,  droves  of  bespattered  donkeys,  cam- 
els treading  the  slippery  places  with  slow  caution, 
dripping  beggars,  wayfarers  in  from  the  soggy  plains, 
merchants  of  the  town  with  faces  screwed,  scowling 
Bedouins,  dull  fellaheen — every  man  wrapped  tight 
in  his  cloak,  of  fur,  sheep-skin,  or  rags,  according  to 
the  dealings  of  fortune. 

I  observed  a  mangy  dog  venture  from  the  lee  of  the 
wall,  stand  three-footed  and  cowering  in  a  pool  of 
mud,  and  return  presently  to  cuddle  with  his  mates. 
A  drove  of  fat-tailed  sheep  crossed  the  river  on  the 
way  to  market,  driven  by  three  distracted  children, 
who  must  gather  the  flock  from  an  unfortunate  col- 

106 


THE  CANOUN  AND  THE  ANGEL 

lision  of  a  company  of  donkeys  with  a  string  of  wood- 
carrying  camels  and  a  saucy  old  man  on  the  back  of  a 
white  ass.  A  sheik  of  the  Bedouins  came,  arrived 
from  some  distant  place,  having  entered  by  God's 
Gate,  now  riding  proudly,  his  robe  and  kafflyeh  flutter- 
ing in  the  Wet  wind,  three  servants  respectfully  fol- 
lowing, all  armed  to  the  teeth,  sword,  dagger,  and 
long  gun:  an  alert  and  travel-stained  cavalcade,  not 
used  yet  to  the  security  of  the  town. 

A  trumpet  was  blown,  but  in  no  spirited  way; 
an  outrider  galloped  past,  and  the  Vali  drove  by, 
with  an  escort  of  starved  and  listless  soldiery,  brush- 
ed up,  indeed,  for  this  service,  but  still  somehow  not 
differing  from  the  ragged,  anaemic  crew  who  go  utter- 
ly impoverished  in  the  Sultan's  service.  Some  pious 
Mohammedan,  favored  by  fortune,  appeared  with  a 
long  stick,  a  bag,  and  a  man  servant :  he  would  feed 
the  dogs,  I  knew,  in  fulfilment  of  a  vow,  and  I  sur- 
mised, I  recall,  that  his  son's  life  had  been  saved, 
since  I  could  conceive  no  other  thankfulness  sufficient 
to  move  a  Mohammedan  of  Damascus  to  the  deed, 
the  day  being  wet  and  cold.  He  exchanged  with  his 
servant  the  stick  for  the  bag.  "Whish!  whish! 
whish ! "  they  called.  The  dogs  charged — a  famished 
snapping  swarm — and  must  be  beaten  to  their  dis- 
tance. 

I  dispatched  Taufik  to  discover  the  cause  of  the 
man's  gratitude. 

"This  man,"  he  reported,  returning,  "has  but 
now  sold  his  beast  to  advantage  in  the  ass-market." 

107 


GOING    DOWN    FROM    JERUSALEM 

There  was  a  tap  at  the  door — a  diffident  tap,  in- 
sinuating and  apologetic,  almost  subservient,  but 
escaping  that.  It  was  the  hand  of  the  Interpreter— 
a  gray  little  philosopher,  of  the  cultured  Christian 
class,  accomplished,  clever,  and  kindly,  and  of  an 
amazingly  impeccable  politeness — who  approached 
the  balcony  window  with  many  low  bows  and  compli- 
mentary speeches.  It  was  with  difficulty,  indeed, 
that  I  had  persuaded  him  to  serve  me.  "  I  observe," 
said  he,  "that  you  are  interested  in  this  Mohamme- 
dan's piety,  which  is  not,  however,  as  interesting  as  the 
dogs.  It  is  a  curious  thing  about  the  dogs  of  Da- 
mascus that  each  must  dwell  in  the  quarter  of  his 
birth ;  but  yet,  as  I  have  many  times  observed,  a  dog 
may  wander  from  his  place,  going  in  peace,  if  he 
may  accomplish  an  arrangement  with  the  neighbor- 
ing packs,  and  will  but  proceed  amicably,  and  under 
escort  from  frontier  to  frontier.  It  is  in  much  the 
same  way  that  the  wild  Bedouins  travel  the  desert. 
The  Mohammedan,"  he  proceeded,  "has  sold  his 
beast?  Very  well,  then:  I  understand.  This  good 
man  has  robbed  the  purchaser  in  much  more  than 
he  had  hoped,  and  will  now  not  only  pacify  the 
Recording  Angel,  but  cultivate  the  favor  of  Heaven, 
by  returning  to  the  Almighty  some  part  of  the  profit 
of  his  deceit.  To-night  he  will  sleep  with  a  lighter 
conscience  and  a  heavier  purse;  and  to-morrow  he 
will  rise  refreshed,  sustained  by  his  religion,  to  seek 
another  victim." 

I  had  elsewhere  heard  something  of  this  same  practice. 

108 


THE  CANOUN  AND  THE  ANGEL 

"Come!"  said  the  Interpreter,  as  the  pious  Mo- 
hammedan trader  departed;  "  we  will  visit  the  poet." 

I  would  not  call  upon  the  poet. 

"But,"  he  protested,  "he  is  wise  and  learned,  the 
greatest  poet  in  all  Syria,  and — a — rich — man!" 

Thereupon  we  set  out  for  the  home  of  the  poet. 

As  we  walked,  the  Interpreter  told  me  something 
of  interest  concerning  a  great  traveller — that  one 
considerable  traveller  of  the  great  Arabian  Desert  of 
whose  account  good  words  are  spoken  in  Damascus. 
It  seems  that  he  was  taught  Arabic  by  the  Inter- 
preter, living  one  year  with  him,  not  only  learning  the 
language,  but  teaching  his  stomach  to  endure  for 
many  days  upon  elates,  for  example,  or  go  hungry, 
and  his  whole  body  to  go  thirsty.  "You  do  not 
believe  in  Christ,  dear  friend,  nor  yet  in  the  Prophet," 
said  the  Interpreter;  "  what,  then,  is  your  religion?" 
" I  am  an  infidel,"  was  the  answer;  "there  is  no  God 
in  whom  I  believe."  "Is  an  infidel  of  this  char- 
acter?" exclaimed  the  Interpreter.  "An  infidel," 
was  the  reply,  "  is  a  man  who  believes  in  no  God, 
neither  cares  for  the  wrath  nor  mercy  of  any."  But 
now,  curiously,  when  this  man  was  ready  to  depart 
upon  his  journey,  he  came  to  the  Interpreter,  with 
a  ring  upon  his  hand,  his  seal,  as  men  who  go  into 
the  desert  should  have.  "What!"  cried  the  Inter- 
preter, in  amazement,  when  he  had  read  the  inscrip- 
tion; "  you  call  yourself  '  Khalil,'  which  is  '  A  friend'  ? 
It  is  a  Christian  name,  and  will  instantly  declare  you 
a  Nasrany,  to  your  imminent  peril  in  these  far  places. 

109 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

As  you  are  an  infidel,  believing  in  no  God,  why  not 
take  a  Mohammedan  name,  Mohammed,  Ahmed, 
or  Mustafa,  and  in  this  way  ease  your  path?" 

"This,"  the  traveller  answered,  "I  will  not  do." 

"Why  not?"  the  Interpreter  insisted.  "You  are 
an  infidel,  believing  in  no  God,  and  should  have  no 
compunction." 

"Because,"  replied  the  traveller. 

"It  is  no  answer,"  said  the  Interpreter. 

"I  will  not  do  this  thing,"  the  traveller  declared, 
"  because  of  the  God  of  my  fathers.  I  was  born  as  I 
am  born,  of  Christian  parents,  in  a  Christian  land, 
a  land  of  brotherly  kindness  and  beneficent  law  be- 
cause of  Christianity ;  and  I  will  journey  as  a  Christian 
or  die  a  martyr." 

In  the  wild  desert,  where  in  the  accomplishment  of 
his  death  some  man  might  have  won  merit,  the  Bed- 
ouins often  said  to  this  traveller,  "Say  but  this, 
'There  is  but  one  God,  and  Mohammed  is  His 
Prophet,'  and  your  life  will  be  spared."  The 
traveller  would  not;  but  after  three  years,  neverthe- 
less, he  emerged.  I  do  not  know  whether  he  is  an 
infidel  now  or  not.  At  any  rate,  he  is  no  Moham- 
medan. 

We  had  come  now,  by  a  way  most  devious  and 
dirty,  to  the  home  of  the  poet:  a  great,  pretentious 
place,  no  doubt,  but  situate  in  a  wretched  quarter, 
and,  except  for  a  gorgeously  clad  porter  at  the  little 
gate,  and  a  long  blank  wall  broken  too  severely  by 

no 


WE      HAD      COME      BY      A       DEVIOUS      WAY      TO      THE 
HOME      OF      THE      POET 


THE  CANOUN  AND  THE  ANGEL 

the  latticed  windows  of  the  harem,  hardly  dis- 
tinguishable from  its  meaner  neighbors. 

"Here,"  I  complained,  ''is  an  intrusion." 

"It  is  not  so,"  replied  the  Interpreter,  earnestly. 
"  No  personage  of  Damascus  would  deny  a  stranger 
of  station.  You  must  seek  his  dvwan.  It  is  the 
custom.  There  is  no  other  way.  Would  you  have 
him  call  upon  you? " 

"The  adventure  is  yours,"  I  assented. 

I  recall  a  spacious  entry — heavy  stone  arches  over- 
head, a  mosaic  floor,  new  washed — and  a  black  man 
in  white  linen,  scarred  in  the  cheeks,  like  a  slave 
come  to  Damascus  from  the  Soudan  by  way  of  the 
desert  tents.  There  was  a  miniature  garden,  a  high- 
walled  court-yard,  with  close-cropped  hedges  and 
mollycoddled  flowers;  this  was  an  agreeable  glimpse, 
high  colored  and  wet  with  rain — a  fresh,  sweet- 
smelling  patch,  fallen  upon  from  the  evil-odored 
street.  Happily,  as  it  seemed  to  me — but  much  to 
the  chagrin  of  the  Interpreter — the  poet  was  gone 
out:  departed  (said  they  who  loitered  awaiting  him) 
to  talk  with  some  celebrated  theologian,  arrived  un- 
expectedly from  the  East.  There  was  a  sheik  of 
learning,  however,  distributing  flowers  of  wisdom  in 
an ;  anteroom,  whom  I  observed  with  much  interest, 
since  I  had  never  seen  the  like  of  it  before.  The  In- 
terpreter explained  that  he  was  a  famous  theologian, 
whose  learning  was  much  sought  because  of  its 
heterodoxy,  which,  however,  had  not  yet  trans- 
gressed the  limits  of  his  personal  security.  Thus 

in 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

far  he  had  walked  the  maze  with  clever  feet;  but  there 
would  come  a  time  when  some  indiscretion  would 
not  only  accomplish  his  ruin,  but  involve  his  poor 
students  in  the  downfall.  It  was  the  custom  of  this 
man,  it  seemed,  to  use  the  homes  of  the  great,  having 
no  considerable  establishment  of  his  own.  He  would 
repair  here  or  there,  according  to  the  whim  of  the 
morning,  and,  discovered  by  his  pupils,  would  im- 
part instruction  or  not,  as  his  humor  went.  It  was 
apparent,  indeed,  that  he  was  esteemed  as  a  teacher. 
Now  elegantly  at  ease  on  a  cushioned  diwan,  he  was 
surrounded  by  a  group  of  hero-worshipping  listeners, 
squatted  at  his  feet,  the  favored  reclining  beside  him 
— mostly  boys  with  small-grown  beards,  who  buzzed 
at  the  flame  of  this  dangerous  learning,  every  youth 
of  them  all  doubtless  even  then  under  espionage. 

"  It  is  well  known,"  said  the  Interpreter,  impatient- 
ly, as  we  departed,  "that  the  man  is  under  suspicion. 
I  cannot  conceive  why  these  poor  youths  should 
follow  him.  They  follow,  indeed,  to  a  great  catas- 
trophe." 

"Wherefore?"  I  demanded. 

"In  Damascus,"  he  answered,  absently,  "it  is 
wise  to  be  circumspect." 

"What  peril,"  I  asked,  "can  threaten  these  half- 
grown  boys?" 

"The  peril,"  he  answered,  "that  waits  upon  new 
teaching." 

"The  man's  teaching,"  I  objected,  "is  not  polit- 
ical." 

112 


THE  CANOUN  AND  THE  ANGEL 

''Every  new  thing,"  he  answered,  "is  political." 
I  remembered  the  enterprising  gentleman  of  Bei- 
rut who  had  indiscreetly  telegraphed  in  English  to 
London  for  an  engine  of  eighty  revolutions  a  minute. 
Eighty  revolutions  a  minute!  The  censors  at  Con- 
stantinople were  shocked;  the  indiscreet  citizen  was 
cast  into  prison. 


XXI 

THE    CANOUN    AND   THE   ANGEL — (Continued) 

WE  passed  the  Gate  of  St.  Thomas — crowding 
through  the  damp  and  scowling  swarm — and 
climbed  a  deserted  by-street  much  in  need  of  an 
industrious  scavenger,  whence,  by  way  of  a  low, 
arched  passage,  we  emerged  abruptly  into  a  broader 
thoroughfare,  streaming  with  sullen  pedestrians  and 
dripping  donkeys.  Presently  the  Interpreter  stop- 
ped under  the  latticed  balcony  of  a  mean-appearing 
house  and  knocked  loudly  on  the  door. 

1  'Here  lives,''  said  he,  while  we  waited,  "a  blind 
musician,  Musa  Halim,  a  player  upon  the  oud  and 
canoun,  who  thrives  much  better  than  most  musicians 
of  Damascus,  being  a  gentle  and  respectable  person. 
There  is  a  curious  story  in  connection  with  him, 
for  which  I  can  vouch,  having  had  it  from  my  mother, 
to  whom  it  was  well  known.  The  man  is  a  foundling, 
though  he  is  not  himself  aware  of  his  origin,  but  con- 
ceives himself  to  be  the  true  son  of  his  foster-mother, 
who  is  now  long  dead.  He  was  picked  up  in  the 
street  by  a  childless  woman,  by  whom  he  was  much 
loved  until  she  discovered  that  he  was  blind;  and 
after  that  she  cared  no  more  for  him,  but  reared  him, 
as  in  duty  bound." 

114 


MUSA      HALIM.     THE      BLIND      MUSICIAN 


THE  CANOUN  AND  THE  ANGEL 

At  this  point  the  door  was  opened,  and  we  were 
with  much  politeness  ushered  into  a  small  court-yard 
where  the  interlacing  branches  of  the  lemon-trees 
dripped  like  rain.  A  wooden  stair  led  thence  to  a 
room  overlooking  the  street,  where  sat  the  blind 
musician  idly  strumming  a  great  corpulent  aud,  He 
was  old  and  clad  according  to  his  station,  in  a  cotton 
gown — a  gentle,  patient-faced  man,  quick  to  smile 
in  a  child-like  way,  so  that,  beholding  him,  one's 
heart  was  tenderly  enlisted.  I  fancied  that  he  was 
shy  and  kind,  given  much  to  loving  those  upon 
whom  he  depended;  and  this,  indeed,  the  Inter- 
preter said  was  true. 

Musa  played  presently;  and  I  listened,  engaged 
but  not  comprehending,  until  the  light  began  to  fail 
in  the  little  room.  And  as  he  played,  he  talked  with 
the  Interpreter — at  last  putting  aside  the  oud,  and 
curiously  gesturing,  smiling  wistfully,  too. 

"It  is  a  pretty  story  of  his  childhood,"  said  the 
Interpreter,  when  Musa  had  fallen  silent.  "I  will 
tell  it  to  you." 

I  heard  then  the  story  of  the  canoun*  and  the 
angel,  which  pleased  me  very  much. 

"  Long  ago,"  the  Interpreter  began,  "  when  this  old 
Musa  was  a  little  child,  his  mother  was  unkindly  dis- 
posed toward  him  because  he  was  blind. 

"  '  What  is  the  use  of  a  blind  boy  who  must  forever 
consume,  but  contribute  nothing?'  she  would  say. 

*  A  stringed  instrument  resembling  a  zither. 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

'I  had  rather  have  a  seeing  girl  than  a  blind  boy,' 
said  she ;  'and  I  had  rather  have  neither  than  either.' 

"Day  by  day  the  little  Musa  must  listen  to  these 
complaints,  and  though  he  was  wounded  sorely,  as 
he  says,  he  would  neither  curse  God  because  of  his 
affliction  nor  answer  his  mother  in  anger,  believing 
always  in  the  wisdom  of  God. 

'"When  I  am  grown/  he  would  reply,  'I  will  find 
a  work  for  the  blind  to  do.' 

'"There  are  the  blind  and  the  blind,'  said  she, 
'and  you  are  of  the  blind  who  are  blind  indeed.  Is 
it  so  that  I  am  to  serve  you  all  my  life  and  gain  no 
smallest  service  in  return?' 

'  *  *  No,'  answered  Musa ;  '  the  good  God  who  created 
me,  leaving  me  blind,  will  yet  give  me  some  labor 
that  a  blind  boy  may  do.' 

"To  escape  his  mother's  wailing  he  would  then  go 
into  the  street,  where  he  must  feel  his  way  along  the 
walls,  being  careful  to  avoid  the  teeth  and  hoofs 
of  the  beasts  of  the  city,  but  not  fearing  the  men  of 
Damascus,  who  are  tender  to  the  afflicted,  according 
to  the  teachings  of  their  religion.  First  a  step  or 
more;  then  beyond,  eventually  to  the  corner,  and 
at  last  into  the  Long  Bazar,  where  he  made  friends, 
and  would  often  sit  in  the  shop  of  a  fez-presser,  who 
cherished  him. 

"'I  have  a  brother-in-law  whose  wife  is  the 
daughter  of  a  silk- weaver,'  said  his  mother,  'and  to 
this  man  I  will  apprentice  you,  for  surely  you  have 
strength  to  turn  the  wheel.' 

116 


THE  CANOUN  AND  THE  ANGEL 

"  In  this  way  the  blind  Musa  came  to  turn  the 
great  wheel  of  the  silk- weaver;  but  he  was  yet  young 
for  the  employment,  and  the  weavers  of  that  bazar 
pitied  him. 

"'Here/  said  they,  cyou  turn  the  great  wheel  in- 
dustriously, but  you  have  no  strength;  every  eight 
minutes  you  must  rest — the  labor  is  too  hard.  Turn 
the  lathe  of  a  carpenter;  it  is  your  proper  occupa- 
tion.' 

"The  lathe  of  a  carpenter,  then,  the  little  Musa 
turned,  but  blundered  unhappily,  because  he  would 
think  of  other  things. 

"'At  any  rate/  thought  he,  'this  carpenter  should 
turn  his  own  lathe ;  this  maker  of  chairs  has  no  need 
of  a  blind  child ;  for  has  he  not  his  teeth  and  the  toes 
of  his  left  foot  ?  Why  should  I  serve  a  man  who  is  too 
lazy  to  employ  all  the  members  God  has  given  him  ? 
I  will  go  to  the  brass- worker ;  it  is  surely  my  place/ 

"In  the  shop  of  the  brass-worker  Musa  diligently 
turned  the  wheel,  laboring  from  early  morning  until 
at  sunset  the  shutters  were  put  up  and  all  the 
artisans  went  home.  The  apprentices  of  the  bazars 
are  happy  indeed,  living  the  lives  of  their  peculiar 
labor,  hearing  the  gossip  of  it,  hopeful  of  rising  to 
mastership,  and,  best  of  all,  looking  up  from  the  task 
to  watch  the  life  of  the  city  passing  by;  but  for  this 
blind  Musa  was  no  distraction,  neither  opportunity. 
It  chanced  one  day,  however,  that  a  fragment  of 
metal,  flying  out,  wounded  him  in  the  forehead,  and 
he  must  give  up  that  occupation,  too. 

117 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

'What  now,'  his  mother  complained,  'shall  I  do 
with  a  blind  child  like  this?' 

"  Musa  walked  out,  feeling  his  way  along  the  walls, 
careful  of  the  hoofs  and  teeth  of  the  donkeys  and 
camels,  and  came  presently  near  the  corner  of  the 
Long  Bazar,  where,  strangely,  he  was  arrested  by 
sweet  tinkling  sounds.  These  he  had  never  heard 
before — no  music,  as  he  has  told  me :  neither  oud  nor 
canoun.  He  stood  against  the  wall  below  the  win- 
dow whence  issued  the  attractive  sounds — with- 
drawn from  the  jostling  and  complaint  and  pity  of 
the  street.  Soon,  enraptured,  he  issued  from  this 
seclusion,  and  caught  a  passer-by  by  the  robe. 

'"What  is  this?'  he  demanded. 

"It  is  a  canoun,'  was  the  answer;  and  thereupon 
the  man  explained  the  manner  of  its  playing  and  all 
the  business  of  music. 

"'It  is  evident,'  thought  Musa,  'that  God  has  led 
me  to  this  place  and  entranced  me.  Surely,  the  God 
who  made  me  to  be  born  blind  had  the  intention  of 
succoring  me,  and  having  led  me  to  this  accident, 
wishes  that  I  should  continue,  not  a  turner  of  wheels, 
but  a  giver  of  delight.' 

"Musa's  mother  would  hear  nothing  of  this  plan. 
'  What ! '  cried  she ;  '  a  canoun  indeed !  Shall  we  give 
a  bear  silk  to  weave?' 

"Always  was  this  answer,  'Shall  we  give  a  bear 
silk  to  weave  ? '  Night  and  day  the  same : '  Shall  we 
give  a  bear  silk  to  weave?  Shall  we  give  a  bear 
silk  to  weave  ? '  until  Musa  sought  no  more. 

118 


THE     SHOP     OF     THE      FEZ-PRESSER 


THE  CANOUN  AND  THE  ANGEL 

"'But,'  thought  he,  'I  will  ask  God  to  send  an 
angel  with  a  canoun,  and  in  this  way  I  will  surely  gain 
my  wish.' 

"This  he  did,  night  and  morning,  and  often  during 
the  day,  beseeching  that  an  angel  might  be  sent  with 
a  canoun;  but  no  angel  came,  pray  as  hard  as  he 
might.  It  became  his  habit,  then,  when  in  the 
street,  to  pause,  absent-minded,  and  strum  the  palm 
of  his  left  hand  with  the  fingers  of  his  right ;  and  this 
curious  occupation  never  failed  to  attract  attention. 
"Blind  boy,'  they  would  ask,  'why  do  you  this 
queer  thing?' 

"I  play  on  my  little  canoun*  he  answered;  'it 
is  my  little  canoun,  and  I  play.' 

"Always  he  would  answer  in  the  same  words, 
strumming  the  palm  of  his  left  hand,  'I  play  on  my 
little  canoun.' 

"One  day  a  lady  laughed  close  at  hand. 

'"Little  boy,'  she  asked,  'what  are  you  doing?' 

'"I  play,'  Musa  answered,  'on  my  little  canoun.' 
"But  here,'  said  she,  'is  no  canoun!1 

"'It  is  true,  lady,'  he  answered;  'but  having  no 
canoun,  I  must  pretend  to  possess  one.' 

"The  lady  laughed  then,  and  went  away;  and 
Musa  idled  on,  but,  returning,  was  intercepted  by 
a  boy  of  his  neighborhood,  who  said: 

"Make  haste;  there  is  a  surprise  in  store  for  you.' 

"At  the  corner  of  the  Long  Bazar  they  said: 

"'Go  faster;  you  will  be  much  pleased  with  what 
you  find  at  home.' 

9  119 


GOING    DOWN    FROM    JERUSALEM 

"  Believing,  then,  that  the  angel  had  come,  Musa 
hastened;  and  at  home,  indeed,  he  found  his  first 
canoun. 

'"An  angel,'  said  he,  'has  brought  it!" 
It  was  this  tale  I  exchanged  with  the  younger  kha- 
waja  in  return  for  sharing  with  me  the  good  deed  he 
had  done  upon  the  pitiable  estate  of  the  contented 
man  of  Damascus,  to  whom  Shiek  Mirza's  responses 
had  recalled  me  by  the  Well  of  Mazaar,  in  Egypt. 


XXII 

AT   THE   WELL   OF   THE   SLAVE 

THE  Arabs,"  said  the  admirable  Aboosh,  spur- 
ring the  gray  horse  nearer,  on  the  road  to 
Bir  el-Abd,  "have  a  proverb:  A  journey  is  as  long 
as  the  looking  forward  of  him  who  would  be  at  his 
destination." 

Herein,  to  be  sure,  was  expressed  the  wise  patience 
of  the  desert:  a  man  is  as  weary  as  he  is  wishful 
to  be  done  with  all  travelling.  But  it  had  been 
hard  riding  that  day  for  aliens — a  broiling  footpace 
through  the  sands  of  Et-Tih — continued,  with  urging, 
since  the  cool  wind  of  dawn  had  fallen  flat.  More- 
over, experience  tempers  all  hardship :  who  is  inured 
has  no  feeling. 

"  It  is  true,  as  they  say,"  I  answered,  "  that  a  com- 
plaining man  curdles  all  good  cheer;  but  the  Arabs," 
said  I,  quoting  a  proverb  I  had  heard  in  Damascus, 
"have  another  wise  saying:  He  who  receives  the 
strokes  is  not  like  him  who  counts  them." 

"Patience,"  he  quoted,  promptly,  "is  from  God." 

I  was  able  to  retort. 

"Patience,  as  the  Arabs  say,"  I  answered,  "is 
the  expedient  of  the  man  who  has  no  expedient." 

121 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

The  dragoman  laughed. 

"There  is  yet,"  said  he,  diffidently,  "  another  prov- 
erb :  A  gloomy  look  is  a  foreboding  of  ill,  and  a  bright 
face  is  like  good  news." 

It  seems  that  the  desert  philosophy,  current  in 
these  proverbs,  is,  at  all  times  and  without  complaint, 
to  make  the  best  of  necessity.  I  made  haste  to 
practise  it. 

Still  was  it  hard  riding;  nor,  search  the  rolling 
yellow  waste  as  we  would,  was  there  any  promise  of 
an  end.  In  the  beginning — this  at  the  gloomy  Well 
of  Mazaar — a  camel-herder  of  those  parts  had  at  our 
mounting  said  six  leisurely  hours  to  Bir  el-Abd ;  but 
he  had  proved  a  poor  sanguine  liar — a  fellow  irrespon- 
sible, like  a  child  prevaricating  to  please.  We  were 
now  well  forward  in  the  ninth  hour;  and  a  ragged 
pilgrim  from  Tunis,  bound  east  and  yet  within  sight, 
had  foretold  three  more  hours  to  water,  whence  he 
had  come.  Here  was  a  journey  of  ordinary  most 
agreeable;  but  the  resources  of  distraction  were  now 
exhausted:  Mustafa,  the  camel-driver,  was  squeezed 
dry  of  his  excellent  and  engaging  tales,  and  must, 
said  he,  search  his  memory  in  sleep,  to  continue; 
the  love-songs  of  Rachid  had  failed,  and  he  was 
become  an  unfeeling  machine,  trudging  ahead,  loins 
girt,  a  distraught  and  most  weary  poet;  the  younger 
khawaja  and  Taufik,  the  one  bobbing  on  a  tall  thelfil, 
the  other  lazily  astride  a  nervous,  raw-mouthed  pony, 
had  tired  of  toss-and-catch,  even  as  Harned,  the 

122 


AT   THE    WELL    OF   THE    SLAVE 

muleteers'  boy,  had  grown  out  of  sorts  with  recover- 
ing the  balls  they  muffed.  Only  Ali,  the  Soudanese, 
of  all  our  company — and  he  was  desert  born — kept 
himself  detached  from  travelling,  and  crooned,  lag- 
ging behind,  the  graces  of  his  beloved,  her  lips  and 
bosom  and  eyes,  which  were  not  to  be  matched,  it 
seemed,  in  all  the  wide  world. 

To  the  crest  of  a  hill  and  to  the  crest  of  a  hill; 
beyond  a  valley  and  to  a  far-off  ridge :  this  had  been 
our  riding  the  day  long;  and  now  I  fancied  that  we 
must  forever  continue  to  crawl  toward  a  retreating 
horizon,  like  children  chasing  the  rainbow.  The  sun 
was  falling  behind  a  vast  church- window  of  cloud: 
a  gorgeous  coloring,  streaming  in  straight  lines,  of 
every  pale  hue,  from  a  gory  horizon  to  the  sombre 
higher  sky,  the  whole  reflected  in  the  tender  glory 
of  the  east.  I  recall  that  in  the  midst  of  the  western 
fire  was  a  glowing  blood-red  field,  infinitely  extend- 
ing, seeming  not  to  roof  the  farther  sand,  but  to  lead 
from  it,  as  by  a  gentle  incline,  to  the  remotest  places 
of  the  heavenly  light,  as  though  one  might  mount 
from  the  parched  desert  and  continue  riding,  uplifted, 
in  some  supernal  country.  Then,  as  always  at  even- 
ing, the  sand  was  carpeted  with  ethereal  rainbow 
hues:  a  billowy  prospect,  wide  as  the  sea — the  color 
subtle  and  evanescent;  no  sooner  perceived  than 
vanished.  Well,  the  pilgrim  from  Tunis,  too,  it 
seemed,  had  lied — but  yet  without  offence  to  us: 
these  travelling  folk,  on  the  old  road  from  Cairo  to 
the  East,  care  nothing;  they  do  but  proceed,  east  to 

123 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

west,  west  to  east,  taking  no  account  of  time  or 
suffering.  We  came  presently  to  the  crest  of  a  hill — 
like  any  sandy  drift  we  had  hopefully  surmounted 
that  day — and  at  our  very  feet,  all  unexpectedly, 
lay  Bir  el-Abd,  the  Well  of  the  Slave,  a  grove  of  tall 
date-palrns  growing  in  a  round  depression,  the  well- 
shaft  rising  from  a  circle  of  anciently  trampled 
sand. 

Alone  in  this  vast  waste  and  silence  was  a  ragged 
Bedouin,  filling  his  girbie  at  the  well;  and  him  we 
interrogated. 

"Whither  bound,  khatil?"  I  inquired. 

The  answer  was  in  a  dry-lipped  whisper. 

"I  have  done  no  wrong,  khawaja,"  said  he. 

' 'We  have  not  come  to  accuse  you,  God  knows!" 
said  I. 

"God  witness!"  he  protested,  "I  am  an  innocent 
man.  I  have  not  wronged  the  English." 

4 'Even  so,"  I  replied;  "but  is  your  errand  on  this 
road  so  secret  that  it  may  not  be  known?" 

"Wellah!"  he  swore,  "I  am  but  an  humble  Bed- 
ouin of  these  parts,  and  love  the  English." 

"Whither  bound,  khalil?" 

"Bearing  a  burden  of  flour,  by  the  grace  of  God! 
four  hours  hence  afoot/'  he  answered,  "to  the  camel- 
herders  of  our  tribe,  who  will  perish  if  I' am  taken." 

"  It  has  grown  dark,"  said  I ;  "  to-night  you  will  eat 
and  rest  with  us,  who  have  and  to  spare." 

"The  khawaja  is  beneficent,"  he  answered;  "but 
the  tribesmen  are  hungry." 

124 


A       RAGGED       BEDOUIN       FILLING       HIS       GIRBIE 
AT     THE     WELL 


AT   THE    WELL    OF    THE    SLAVE 

"  At  dawn,"  I  urged,  "to  your  burden  of  flour  you 
shall  add  a  gift  of  rice  and  tobacco." 

Elias,  the  cook's  boy — an  impish  Christian  of  the 
city,  having  the  contempt  of  the  town  for  these 
desert- dwellers — was  now  seized  of  a  devilish  im- 
pulse; he  wheeled  his  pony  and  came  charging  upon 
the  wretched  Bedouin. 

"There  he  is!"  he  screamed.  "That's  the  man 
we're  after!" 

The  Bedouin  took  to  his  heels.  A  ragged  abba 
flapping  like  a  whipped  flag,  and  he  was  over  the  hill 
before  the  gray  pony  had  recovered  from  her  aston- 
ishment. We  choked  the  laughter  of  Elias — it  was 
the  hand  of  the  admirable  Aboosh — and  gravely 
chastised  him.  He  had  scared  a  man  from  the  well, 
who  might  not  then,  God  knows!  have  filled  his 
girbie.  There  was  no  forgiveness ;  every  howl  of  his 
was  like  the  music  of  Damascus.  Satisfied  of  pun- 
ishment, we  dispatched  the  boy  after  the  Bedouin, 
commanding  him  to  return  with  his  captive  or  himself 
miserably  perish  in  the  wild  desert  like  a  forsaken 
camel,  leaving  his  carcass  to  be  picked  by  vultures 
and  his  bones  to  bleach  in  the  sun  and  frighten  way- 
faring mules.  Fortunately,  he  took  us  seriously; 
and  he  was  presently  returned  with  the  man,  whom 
he  had  overcome  with  a  bribe,  he  ruefully  said,  of 
the  only  bishlik  that  he  had. 


XXIII 

THE   BLACK   BEDOUIN 

WHEN  the  cook  had  worked  the  evening  miracle 
of  a  table  spread  bountifully  in  the  wilderness 
—this  same  dry  waste  being  the  region  wherein  for 
forty  years  the  children  of  Israel  had  received  the 
manna  of  Heaven — I  wandered  apart.  It  was  a 
tender  night,  the  dark  gently  fallen  upon  us,  like  a 
soft  blanket  thrown  over  in  loving  wisdom  by  a 
mother.  The  little  stars  were  out — a  great,  clear- 
shining,  friendly  multitude — peopling  the  wide  desert 
itself,  so  that  no  wanderer  might  justly  cry  himself 
forsaken  therein ;  and  a  young  moon,  a  greater  glory 
in  the  midst  of  these  dear  constant  lights,  had.  now 
spread  the  infinite  sands  with  a  mystical  sheen. 
Here  was  the  frontier  of  reality;  beyond  the  drawn 
breath  and  whispering  and  all  finite  expression  of 
the  camp — the  whine  of  Hamed,  who  must  forsake 
the  rice-bowl  to  beat  the  gray  mare  from  her  mischief 
— a  mere  step  beyond,  and  the  meaning  was  all  at 
once  departed  from  familiar  conceptions ;  a  mere  step 
—an  inch  beyond  the  hill — and  of  this  earth  the 
uttermost  remoteness  from  all  besieging  perturba- 
tions had  been  attained.  No  voice  was  lifted  in  our 

126 


THE    BLACK    BEDOUIN 

camp:  men  spoke  almost  in  whispers,  as  always,  at 
night,  in  the  desert — a  harsh  cry  there,  it  seemed, 
impossible.  The  muleteers  were  grouped  squatting 
about  a  great  tray  of  rice  by  the  cook's  fire,  each  man 
reaching  his  hand  at  will;  the  younger  khawaja  had 
gone  off  to  smoke  to  his  camel,  and  I  observed  now 
that  he  was  squatted  on  the  sand,  idly  puffing,  and 
that  his  grateful  beast,  inhaling  each  whiff,  would 
stretch  his  neck  for  further  treating;  the  camel-boys 
were  baking  their  bread  at  a  little  fire  set  somewhere 
away  from  the  camp,  for  they  counted  themselves, 
it  seemed,  the  least  among  us. 

1  'Ahmed,  take  care!"  Mustafa  whispered,  in  sharp 
warning.  "The  khawaja  is  come  to  observe  us." 

It  seemed  that  Ahmed's  hand  slipped. 

"  Wellah!"  groaned  the  scandalized  Mustafa;  "but 
you  will  surely  yet  put  us  to  shame." 

I  watched  the  small  Ahmed — a  ragged  little  urchin 
—knead  the  flour  and  water  and  fashion  a  great 
round  flat  cake  of  the  dough.  They  scattered  the 
embers  of  the  fire  with  little  sticks,  and  the  boy 
deftly  deposited  his  handiwork  on  the  black  sand: 
whereupon  they  covered  it  with  coals.  Presently  it 
must  be  turned;  and  in  this  process — Ahmed  being 
now  made  nervous  by  Mustafa's  interminably  re- 
iterated warnings — the  cake  was  let  fall.  They  were 
much  afraid,  I  knew — all  these  desert  folk — of  being 
made  ridiculous  in  the  eyes  of  strangers;  but  I  was 
now  fairly  shocked  by  the  outburst  of  the  mild  and 
engaging  Mustafa :  he  fetched  the  boy  a  hearty  buffet 

127 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

—a  quick,  cruel  blow — and  employed  his  tongue  in 
severer  punishment. 

"Why  does  he  take  this  so  to  heart?"  I  asked. 

"He  says,"  Aboosh  answered,  "that  the  boy  has 
dishonored  them  forever." 

"Wherein  the  dishonor?" 

"  In  that,  when  you  return  to  your  people,  you  will 
say  to  the  whole  world  that  Mustafa,  the  camel- 
driver  of  El  Arish,  eats  badly  baked  bread." 

When,  however,  the  embers  were  raked  again  from 
the  cake,  when  the  ashes  and  clinging  sand  were 
dusted  away  with  the  ragged  tail  of  Ahmed's  abba,  it 
turned  out  to  be  very  good  bread  indeed,  relished  by 
Mustafa  and  all  who  ate  as  if  there  had  been  no  slip 
of  the  hand  at  any  stage  of  the  operation ;  and  I  think 
that  the  little  Ahmed  did  well  enough — well  enough, 
you  may  believe,  in  that  mean  light,  half  blind  as 
he  was,  of  what  they  call  the  Egyptian  eye  disease. 
At  any  rate,  I  do  not  hesitate  to  proclaim  that 
Mustafa,  the  camel-driver  of  El  Arish,  does  not  eat 
ill-made  bread,  but  in  every  respect  good  bread, 
made  by  the  hands  of  Ahmed,  his  small  relative. 

Hamed  and  Rachid  had  by  this  time  gathered  a 
great  store  of  dry  bushes  for  the  camp-fire,  which 
must  burn  long  that  night;  for,  riding  in  weariness, 
we  had  at  midday  promised  ourselves  a  protracted 
recreation.  The  little  blaze  was  now  reaching 
slender  arms  for  the  stars;  and  presently,  disposed 
around  it,  muleteers,  camel-drivers,  and  all,  each 
according  to  his  station,  we  dispatched  Rachid  for 

128 


THE    BLACK    BEDOUIN 

the  coffee.  There  had  meanwhile  come  to  the  well 
a  great  dark-skinned  Bedouin,  neither  servile  nor  in 
rags,  but  a  proud  man,  even  richly  clothed  and  clean- 
ly, a  hint  of  contempt  in  his  glance  at  our  array.  I 
did  not  see  his  camel  (he  was  gone  before  dawn), 
nor  needed  to  be  told  that  it  was  a  ihelfil  of  breeding. 
The  man  would  ride  no  mean  beast,  to  be  shamed  by 
it.  I  observed  that  he  had  mastered  an  overbearing 
but  not  truculent  manner,  and  that  he  now  displayed 
it,  to  save  his  pride  before  travellers  who  journeyed 
with  so  large  a  company.  He  had  coffee  of  us,  how- 
ever, as  all  wayfarers  whom  we  met,  and  was  bidden 
to  the  entertainment  of  our  fire,  as  all  wanderers, 
whether  in  rags  or  silk ;  and  choosing  a  station  some- 
thing apart  from  the  muleteers  and  Mustafa's  crew — 
suiting  it,  it  seemed,  to  his  own  notion  of  his  degree 
—he  gravely  squatted  to  listen  to  the  impending 
stories. 

"Whither?"  I  asked. 

"By  God's  Gate,"  he  answered,  shortly. 

I  knew  then  that  he  was  from  the  far  wide  desert 
to  the  east  or  south  of  Damascus,  returning  from 
some  business  in  Egypt.  In  Damascus,  being  asked 
by  the  "way,  travellers  to  a  secret  destination  reply 
that  they  go  by  God's  Gate,  and  no  more  is  said; 
it  is  an  accepted  form  of  evasion.  The  Bab  Ullah 
of  the  city  opens  to  the  great  desert. 


XXIV 

HALF-WIT    OF    THE    LEBANON    HILLS 

HE  reclined  yet  more  comfortably  on  the  rugs, 
in  expectation  of  the  first  tale;  and  the  drago- 
man— his  being  the  turn — having  renewed  the  coal  on 
his  narghile,  told  the  following  story  of  the  fool  of  the 
Lebanon  hills  for  the  entertainment  of  the  company. 
" There  was  once,"  Aboosh  began,  "a  fool  of  the 
Lebanon  hills  who  centred  his  folly  in  his  little  tab  I, 
and  would  beat  that  little  drum  until  the  neighbors 
were  tired  of  the  music.  Having  bethought  himself 
that  travel  was  a  salutary  thing,  he  departed  on  a 
journey;  and  travelling  far,  he  came  one  night  to  a 
desolate  place  in  the  mountains,  where  was  no  house 
to  be  seen,  but  only  a  mill,  situate  by  a  tumbling 
stream,  for  the  grinding  of  corn.  But  he  entered  the 
mill,  having  no  other  shelter,  and  was  presently 
aware  that  a  great  brown  bear  was  another  occupant 
of  the  place.  The  bear,  as  you  may  believe,  came 
growling  upon  Half-wit,  and  Half-wit  fled  to  the 
rafters,  where  in  a  frenzy,  though  clinging  none  too 
securely  to  his  perch,  he  began  to  beat  his  little  tabl, 
much  to  the  terror  of  the  bear,  which  scrambled  to 
the  door  and  there  began  to  scratch  for  freedom. 

130 


HALF-WIT    OF    LEBANON    HILLS 

" '  Ah-ha! '  thought  Half-wit,  *  if  I  cannot  charm  the 
beast,  still  can  I  frighten  him/  and  continued  to  beat 
on  his  little  tabl. 

"  There  chanced  to  pass  that  way  a  muleteer, 
whose  beast  was  overloaded  with  water-bottles  from 
the  Damascus  potteries:  a  fragile  load,  poised  with 
difficulty  on  the  back  of  any  animal. 

"'  Ah-ha!'  thought  he;  'here  am  I,  a  forlorn  mule- 
teer, lost  in  the  night  and  rain;  but  I  hear  the  sound 
of  a  tabl  and  am  heartened.  Within  is  some  festiv- 
ity. I  will  open  the  door  and  join  the  merriment.' 

"Whereupon  he  opened  the  door,  and  the  brown 
bear,  frantic  now  because  of  the  drum-drum-drum  of 
the  little  tabl,  charged  out,  much  to  the  amazement 
and  terror  of  the  muleteer  and  the  mule.  The  mule, 
indeed,  reared  from  the  beast,  slipped  in  the  mud, 
and  fell,  shattering  the  burden  of  water-bottles  be- 
yond all  hope  of  usage;  then  bolted  like  an  evil 
spirit,  and  was  seen  no  more  that  night,  though 
diligent  search  was  made. 

' '  Robber  and  thief ! '  cried  the  muleteer,  seizing 
Half-wit  by  the  nape,  '  where  are  my  water-bottles 
and  where  is  my  mule?  You  shall  pay  dearly  for 
this.  By  the  Prophet,  I  will  take  you  to  Damascus 
and  there  obtain  judgment  against  you!' 

"Nor  would  he  wait  one  moment  to  depart,  but 
made  good  his  hold  on  the  poor  Half-wit,  and  set  out 
for  the  city  in  the  rain. 

"'It  is  true,'  sighed  Half-wit,  as  they  went,  'that 
the  bear  frightened  your  mule,  and  therefore  all  this 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

damage.  I  will  go  with  you  to  Damascus  to  hear 
the  judgment  of  the  Cadi,  for  I  am  much  interested 
in  this  intricate  problem.  Now,'  said  he,  *  which  is 
at  fault,  the  mule  or  the  muleteer,  the  bear  or  the 
poor  Half-wit?  We  cannot  punish  the  bear,  which 
has  escaped  to  the  mountains,  nor  yet  the  mule, 
which  was,  of  course,  frightened  by  the  bear ;  nor  yet 
can  we  punish  the  muleteer,  who  opened  the  door  in 
confidence.  There  is  nothing  for  it,  then,  but  that 
the  Half-wit  must  suffer.' 

"They  came  at  last  to  Damascus,  where  for  his 
iniquity  Half-wit  was  thrown  into  a  prison  most 
vile;  but  while  there  he  languished,  awaiting  the 
pleasure  of  the  Cadi,  there  came  to  him  a  young 
lawyer  of  the  town,  to  whose  sharp  ears  the  news  of 
this  unprecedented  predicament  had  come.  Into  the 
care  of  this  man  Half-wit  committed  himself,  and 
next  morning  went  with  him  to  the  trial  of  the  case, 
at  which  the  lawyer  began  at  once  to  accuse  the 
muleteer  in  no  unqualified  way. 

"'You  rascal!'  cried  he,  to  the  astonished  mule- 
teer, *  where  is  this  man's  trained  bear  ?  You  un- 
righteous, thieving  scoundrel!  what  have  you  done 
with  this  man's  trained  bear  ?  Are  you  so  heartless/ 
cried  he,  'that  you  would  separate  these  loving 
friends  ?  Will  you  feed  this  man  the  bread  you  have 
filched  from  him?  Will  you  give  him  the  metaliks 
he  was  used  to  gathering,  or  will  you  cast  him,  for- 
saken and  shred  of  his  dear  companion,  upon  the 
compassion  of  an  unkind  world?' 

132 


HALF-WIT   OF    LEBANON    HILLS 

"  By  this  declamation  the  wise  Cadi  of  Damascus 
was  so  moved  that  he  immediately  gave  judgment 
in  favor  of  poor  Half-wit. 

'You  rascally  muleteer!'  said  he,  'you  will  pay 
this  poor  fool  one  thousand  piastres  for  the  loss  of  his 
trained  bear  or  lie  with  the  robbers  in  the  dungeons.' 

"The  muleteer  paid  the  Half-wit  the  money,  glad 
to  be  rid  of  the  difficulty  at  any  cost;  and  Half-wit, 
weary  of  travel  in  a  covetous  world,  returned  to  his 
own  town  in  the  Lebanon  hills. 

"I  lived  here  without  a  metalik,'  said  he,  'and 
was  called  a  fool ;  but  now  that  I  am  returned  with  a 
fortune  they  will  respect  my  wisdom.' 

"And  this,"  Aboosh  concluded,  whiffing  a  cloud 
of  fragrant  smoke  at  the  moon,  "  was  indeed  the 
outcome  of  the  matter." 

Hamed,  the  muleteer's  boy,  cast  a  bush  on  the  fire, 
which  had  burned  low  during  the  recital  of  this  long 
tale,  and  a  multitude  of  sparks  went  roaring  toward 
the  stars.  "This  same  Half-wit,  being  then  in  Da- 
mascus," said  he,  "  was  one  night  besought  by  some 
roisterers  to  drink. 

"'Come,'  cried  they,  'drink  with  us!' 

' '  I  am  but  a  poor  fool,'  said  he. 

"Nevertheless,  poor  Half-wit,'  they  replied, 
'come  drink!' 

'You  drink,'  he  answered,  'to  make  yourselves 
what  I  am  already.  Why,  therefore,  should  I 
drink?'" 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

There  was  a  burst  of  laughter  from  the  company. 
The  answer  was  pronounced  a  good  answer.  Indeed, 
the  young  muleteer's  tale  was  so  warmly  commended 
that  in  the  flush  of  triumph  he  would  immediately 
have  begun  another,  had  not  Yusef  the  cook  an- 
ticipated him.  "There  is  another  excellent  story 
concerning  this  Half-wit,"  he  began;  "but  as  we  are 
a  company  of  Moslems  and  Christians,  I  hesitate 
to  tell  it."  He  was  immediately  assured  by  both 
parties  that  we  were  neither  Moslems  nor  Christians, 
but  fellow-travellers,  passing  in  friendship  into 
Egypt.  "We  are  a  company,"  he  insisted,  "of 
Moslems  and  Christians,  and  I  hesitate  to  tell  this 
tale."  Eventually  persuaded,  however,  that  we 
were,  every  one,  proof  against  animosity,  in  so  far 
as  the  mere  telling  of  tales  was  concerned,  the  cook 
(himself  a  Christian)  proceeded:  "Falling  in  with  a 
company  of  Moslems  on  a  Christian  fast-day,  Half- 
wit was  accosted  with  a  difficult  problem,  for  it  was 
in  the  minds  of  these  men  to  insult  him. 

"'Observe  that  low-lived,  mangy  dog,  nosing  the 
refuse  for  foul  things  to  eat/  said  they,  'and  then 
answer  us  this:  Is  the  dog  a  Christian  or  a  Moslem?' 

"Now,  indeed,  was  Half-wit  fallen  into  a  trap  of 
difficulty  and  peril,  for  if  he  said  that  the  dog  was  a 
Christian  he  would  insult  his  own  religion,  and  if  he 
said  that  it  was  a  Moslem  he  would  be  beaten  to 
death.  So  he  cudgelled  his  wits,  such  as  he  had,  and 
presently  was  ready  with  the  answer. 

"'I  have  no  opinion   in   this  matter,'   said  he. 


HALF-WIT    OF    LEBANON    HILLS 

'Whether  the  dog  is  a  Christian  or  a  Moslem,  it  is 
beyond  me  to  tell,  being  only  a  fool,  but  I  know  a 
way  of  determining  the  truth.  It  is  not  a  difficult 
method,  and  as  I  am  much  interested  in  the  problem 
of  this  dog's  religion,  I  should  like  to  see  it  tried. 
Is  not  this  a  Friday?  Very  good;  it  is  a  Friday. 
The  day  is  propitious  for  the  trial.  Throw  the  dog 
a  piece  of  meat.' 

"They  demanded  an  explanation. 

"'It  is  a  fast-day  of  the  Christians,'  answered 
Half-wit.  '  If  the  dog  eats  the  meat,  he  is  surely  no 
Christian.'" 

There  was  no  rancor  in  the  laughter  which  greeted 
the  conclusion  of  the  cook's  excellent  story. 


XXV 

A    DESERT    DETECTIVE 

CAME  talk  of  desert  travel  and  camel-thieving: 
the  latter  an  honorable  occupation  among  the 
Bedouins — the  enviable  achievement,  indeed,  to 
which  the  youth  of  the  tribes  aspire  and  are  taught 
and  hardened.  Ali,  the  black  Soudanese  corporal 
from  El  Arish,  then  entertained  the  company  by  re- 
lating a  curious  experience,  concerned  with  the  read- 
ing of  footprints,  wherein  there  appeared  to  much 
advantage  a  detective  of  those  parts.  "When  the 
camel-droves  were  last  passing  over  this  route  into 
Egypt  for  sale,"  said  he,  "four  Bedouins  of  some 
beggarly  tribe  to  the  south  thieved  ten  of  a  mer- 
chant's three  hundred  beasts,  the  thing  being  ac- 
complished in  the  night,  one  day's  journey  from  this 
well.  From  El  Arish,  in  answer  to  the  man's  com- 
plaint, I  was  sent  with  a  small  company  to  recover 
the  camels;  and  there  went  with  us  to  follow  the 
tracks  a  wise  old  man  possessing  the  knowledge  of 
Urn  el  athr,  or  the  science  of  footprints,  who  is  em- 
ployed by  the  English  for  no  other  purpose. 

"'Here,'  said  the  merchant,  when  we  came  to  his 
encampment,  '  are  the  hoof -prints  of  one  of  my  ten 
camels.' 

136 


A    DESERT    DETECTIVE 

"  *  I  observe/  said  the  wise  Bedouin, '  that  you  have 
come  from  El  Hamad.  The  camel  is  a  male,  not 
yet  two  years  old;  he  is  afflicted  in  the  breast,  and 
will  die,  if  hard  driven,  within  three  days.  Show  me 
the  track  of  another;  there  is  no  profit  in  following 
this,  for  our  search  would  end  in  the  flight  of  vult- 
ures.' 

"'How  can  you  know  this?'  demanded  the  mer- 
chant. 

'There  is  no  merit  in  the  power  to  know,'  an- 
swered the  student  of  Urn  el  athr.  'The  thing  is 
plainly  written  in  the  sand.' 

"  We  set  out,  then,  on  the  track  of  a  second  beast; 
and  having  travelled  two  days,  we  came  upon  a  young 
camel,  rising  two  years,  afflicted  in  the  breast,  aban- 
doned, and  dying.  For  four  days  more,  the  Bedouin 
being  afoot,  we  followed  the  hoof-prints  of  the  second 
camel;  and  though  some  wind  blew  (but  no  rain 
falling) — though  the  stolen  camels  had  been  driven 
deviously,  and,  sometimes,  over  travelled  routes — 
we  eventually  encountered  the  very  camel  of  which 
we  were  in  search,  feeding  with  the  herd  of  this 
beggarly  southern  tribe. 

"'This,'  said  the  wise  Bedouin,  ' is  one  of  your  ten 
camels;  now  do  you  choose  out  the  others  for  your- 
self.' 

"  But  the  merchant  was  doubtful. 

" ' It  is  true,'  said  he,  'that  this  is  my  camel,  for  I 
observe  that  he  is  marked  with  the  wasm  of  the  place 
whence  I  had  him;  but  my  ten  camels  are  no  more 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

than  a  thirtieth  part  of  my  three  hundred,  and  how 
shall  I  know  them  if  they  are  not  marked?' 

" '  Then, "  said  the  Bedouin, '  I  must  answer  for  your 
helplessness  and  find  your  camels.' 

"They  went  together  into  the  desert,  where  the 
herds  of  the  tribes  were  pasturing;  and  there  the 
Bedouin — looking  for  no  wasm,  but  observing  only 
hoof -prints — selected  eight  beasts,  which  proved,  in- 
deed, to  be  the  stolen  camels,  each  being  marked 
with  the  wasm  of  the  place  whence  the  merchant  had 
them.  It  is  all  a  mystery,"  AH  concluded.  "I  do 
not  know  how  he  managed  the  thing.  He  told  me 
it  was  by  means  of  a  science,  which  must  be  taught ; 
but  he  would  not  teach  me,  though  I  asked  him." 

"The  Bedouins  have  a  proverb,"  Mustafa,  the 
camel-driver,  put  in.  "They  say:  A  man's  face  is 
like  his  feet." 

"  I  have  known  a  sheik  of  the  Soudan,"  AH  answer- 
ed, smartly,  "  to  tell  the  temper  of  a  man  from  his  foot- 
prints, but  never  to  describe  the  length  of  his  beard." 

Mahmoud,  the  big  muleteer,  burst  out  laughing; 
then  all  the  others,  caught  by  Ali's  tart  wit. 

"And  I,"  Mustafa  insisted,  "have  known  a  poor 
Bedouin  of  these  parts  to  measure  the  stature  and 
weight  of  a  night  robber  by  his  track." 

"That,"  said  AH,  "is  a  reasonable  thing — not 
magic." 

They  make  a  mystery  of  this  obscure  science  of 
footprints.  It  is,  at  any  rate,  a  marvellous  thing, 
merely  that,  for  example  (and  the  thing  is  not  only 

138 


A    DESERT    DETECTIVE 

well  known,  but  a  familiar  accomplishment),  a  man 
should  be  able  to  tell  whence  a  camel  or  a  wanderer— 
whether  from  city  or  mountain,  sandy  desert  or 
hard-bottomed  waste — by  the  imprint  of  his  feet; 
for  the  track,  it  must  be  borne  in  mind,  is  not  sharply 
defined,  not  an  accurate  mould,  but  a  thing  blurred 
and  often  almost  obliterated  by  falling  sand  and  drift 
dust.  The  power,  however,  goes  much  further  than 
this:  even  to  determining  the  weight  of  a  camel's 
load,  his  physical  condition,  whether  pursued  or 
merely  in  haste;  and  to  discovering,  from  the  foot- 
prints of  a  man,  his  tribe,  and  whether  he  has  passed 
stealthfully  or  openly  (whether  friend  or  foe). 

There  was  more  talk  of  this,  with  these  simple 
folk,  now  drawn  nearer  the  fire,  listening  in  awe,  as 
to  a  ghost  story.  Then  one  of  the  camels — the  seven 
were  lying  just  beyond  the  circle  of  firelight — rose 
complaining.  Mustafa's  Ahmed  slipped  away  upon 
his  duty.  Presently  I  heard  his  guttural  cawing  to 
get  the  camel  again  to  rest;  but  the  beast  would 
not  down,  and  must  be  beaten — the  boy  meanwhile 
mouthing  great  curses.  I  wondered  that  a  being  so 
small  should  without  peril  to  himself  strike  a  creat- 
ure like  this  with  his  fist,  continuing  all  the  time 
within  reach  of  teeth  and  hoofs. 

"  I  will  tell  the  khawaja,"  replied  Mustafa,  "  a  most 
curious  and  interesting  thing  about  this." 

Ahmed  had  mastered  the  camel,  and  now  came 
to  his  place. 


GOING    DOWN    FROM    JERUSALEM 

"The  khawaja  has  observed,"  Mustafa  continued, 
"that  a  child  may  beat  and  command  a  camel.  It 
is  not  because  the  camel  is  stupid,  nor  yet  because 
he  is  timid ;  it  is  because  of  a  wise  provision  whereby 
God  suited  him  to  the  weakness  of  men.  The  camel's 
eyes  are  like  magnifying-glasses,  and  increase  the 
stature  of  his  master  seven  times:  wherefore  he  is 
obedient  to  this  gigantic-appearing  creature." 

In  Damascus,  too,  I  heard  this  superstition. 

The  grave  Bedouin  from  beyond  Damascus,  who 
had  listened  with  rising  interest  and  geniality,  now 
contributed  something  to  the  instruction  of  the  com- 
pany, as  if  wishing  to  bear  himself  like  a  man  in  the 
evening's  entertainment.  She-camels,  he  said,  are 
foster-mothers  to  the  mares  of  the  desert  where  he 
dwelt.  A  mare,  said  he,  is  the  chief est  possession  of 
the  sheik,  and  also  his  most  troublesome  burden; 
and  a  sheik  with  a  wife  in  addition,  as  the  proverb 
has  it,  lives  to  regret  his  riches,  being  much  worried 
by  the  ills  of  both  these  delicate  creatures.  Lacking 
grass,  the  sheik's  horse  is  not  sustained  by  the  desert 
herbs  and  bushes,  upon  which  the  camel  thrives— 
not  green  and  succulent  fodder,  but  a  growth  dry  and 
gray  and  often  thorny.  The  horse  must  be  fed  with 
milk,  which  she  drinks  with  impatient  relish,  so  that 
to  foster  every  desert  mare  is  assigned  a  milch -camel. 
When  the  camels  go  to  farther  pasturage,  the  horse 
must  accompany  them ;  and  upon  long  journeys  cam- 
els must  be  taken,  not  only  to  provide  milk,  but  to 

140 


A    DESERT    DETECTIVE 

bear  water  as  well,  a  camel' s-load  of  water  sufficing 
the  horse,  it  is  said,  for  but  two  days.  The  sheik's 
satisfaction,  however,  is  an  adequate  compensation. 
It  resides  not  only  in  the  pride  of  possession,  but  in 
a  more  practical  and  worthy  thing — security  and 
greater  efficiency  in  warfare.  The  camel  is  a  stupid, 
lumbering,  slow-moving  beast;  the  mare  is  both 
gallant  and  clever,  quick  to  wheel,  ready  to  charge, 
swift  in  retreat  through  short  distances.  A  sheik 
goes  to  battle  with  a  led  mare,  which  he  will  not  have 
burdened  even  with  his  armor;  he  mounts  her  only 
when  the  engagement  is  imminent — the  enemy  in 
view,  steel  harness  put  on  in  the  ancient  fashion,  the 
ancient  weapon,  sword  or  long  spear,  ready  to  the 
hand. 


XXVI 

THE    MAGICAL   MATCH 

THE  informing  recital  of  the  grave  Bedouin,  to 
which  the  company  had  listened  with  deepest 
attention,  was  now  suddenly  interrupted  by  the 
jangling  of  a  mule's  bell  and  a  great  hullabaloo.  Our 
circle  broke  and  spread  laughing  from  the  fire;  and 
into  the  light  sprang  a  small  figure,  led  by  a  halter 
in  the  hands  of  Rachid,  and  wearing  a  great  abba  of 
sheepskin  overhead  and  a  bell  about  the  neck. 

''What's  this?"  Aboosh  demanded. 

"It  is  the  Half-wit  of  the  Lebanon  hills,"  cried 
Rachid,  "come  to  entertain  the  khawaja  with  his 
trained  bear!" 

Proceeded  then  this  hilarious  entertainment,  to 
the  accompaniment  of  such  a  joyous  noise  of  bell  and 
shouting  and  laughter  as  had  never  before,  I  fancy, 
amazed  the  solemn  desert  of  those  parts.  " La,  la! " 
sang  Rachid;  and  Ahmed,  the  camel-boy,  reared 
and  danced  and  tumbled  until  he  was  breathless, 
whereupon  he  stood  on  his  head,  his  lean,  ulcerated 
little  legs  sticking  straight  up  in  the  firelight.  He 
was  presently  standing  before  the  khawaja,  crying, 
"Backsheesh/  backsheesh!''  but,  therewith  provided, 

142 


THE    MAGICAL    MATCH 

still  remained,  craving  (as  he  said)  a  boon.  "  Yester- 
day," he  besought,  "  when  the  khawaja,  riding  his 
horse,  passed  the  camels  in  the  mid-day  heat,  and  the 
camel-boys  were  worn,  each  boy  clinging  to  the  tail 
of  his  camel,  the  khawaja  rode  slowly  to  converse. 
The  khawaja  will  remember  because  he  laughed  when 
the  red  rooster  crowed  in  the  crate  on  the  back  of 
my  camel.  'Are  you  not  tired?'  said  the  khawaja. 
I  answered,  'I  am  not  tired/  'You  have  walked 
far  in  the  sand/  said  he;  'are  you  not  tired?'  I  an- 
swered again,  'I  am  not  tired.'  For  the  third  time 
the  khawaja  put  the  question,  and  for  the  third  time 
I  answered,  'I  am  not  tired/  'For  this  cheerful 
behavior,'  said  the  khawaja,  'I  will  once  again  work 
the  magic  of  the  match  when  the  day's  journey  is 
over.'  But  the  khawaja  forgot;  and  now  has  come 
the  second  night,  and  he  has  still  forgotten." 

Fortunately,  the  unkind  forgetfulness  was  not 
hard  to  remedy ;  the  khawaja  gathered  them  all  near, 
and  turned  grave  and  distant,  and  smoothed  the  sand, 
all  in  preparation  for  the  magical  feat  of  The  Match 
That  Cannot  Be  Broken.  The  desert  had  by  this 
time  returned  to  its  ancient  solemnity — a  silence  so 
deep  and  wide  and  old  that  the  small  crackling  of 
the  fire  was  like  an  irreligious  disturbance. 

"A  mejidi,"  promised  the  khawaja,  "to  the  one 
who  surprises  the  secret." 

The  attention  was  tragically  earnest. 

"Now,"  the  khawaja  began,  Aboosh  interpreting 
the  patter  as  fast  as  it  fell  from  the  khawaja' s  lips, 

MS 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

"  I  have  here  a  handkerchief.  The  eyes  of  the  clever 
Ahmed  will  tell  him  that  it  is  an  empty  handkerchief. 
Observe,  Ahmed,  that  I  shake  it.  I  take  it  by  the 
corners,  Ahmed,  and  shake  it.  I  show  you  this  side 
—I  show  you  the  other.  And  now,  having  con- 
vinced, you  that  the  handkerchief  is  empty,  I  spread 
it  on  the  sand,  here  in  the  very  brightest  of  the  fire- 
light. Keep  watch.  A  mejidi  to  the  diligent  ob- 
server! Mahmoud  will  give  me  a  match.  Ahmed 
will  himself  take  the  match  in  his  very  own  hands 
and  discover  that  it  is  a  match  like  any  other  match. 
He  will  with  this  pencil  mark  the  match  with  some 
wasm  of  his  own  invention.  But  the  khawaja 
touches  the  match — keep  watch ! — and  it  is  straight- 
way become  the  magical  match  that  cannot  be 
broken.  I  drop  the  magical  match  upon  the  magical 
handkerchief.  It  is  the  self-same  match.  It  is  the 
self -same  handkerchief.  Observe  my  hands;  they 
are  empty.  Keep  watch — a  mejidi  to  the  diligent 
observer.  I  roll  up  my  sleeves.  There  is  still  noth- 
ing in  my  hands.  I  fold  this  corner  of  the  hand- 
kerchief over  the  match.  I  fold  another — and  the 
third,  and  the  fourth.  And  now  Ahmed  will  with 
his  own  hands  find  the  match  in  the  folds  of  the 
handkerchief  and  break  it  in  halves.  Listen!  The 
magical  match  is  broken.  You  have  heard  it  crack 
between  the  fingers  of  Ahmed.  But  it  is  a  magical 
match ;  and,  behold !  I  unfold  the  handkerchief,  and 
the  magical  match,  marked  with  the  wasm  of  Ahmed, 
done  with  his  very  own  hands  and  of  his  very  own 

144 


THE    MAGICAL    MATCH 

invention,  is  not  broken :  nor  is  there  another  match 
anywhere  to  be  discovered!  It  is  a  mystery!" 

"A  devil-match!"  ejaculated  the  grave  Bedouin, 
starting  back  in  religious  horror. 

"Wellah!"  groaned  Mahmoud,  "I  am  bedevilled 
again!" 

The  others  were  amazed  beyond  utterance  of  any 
sort — save  this  little  Ahmed,  who  emitted  what  may 
be  likened  to  a  gurgle  of  delicious  fright.  The  second 
match,  of  course — the  match  which  Ahmed  had 
broken — was  concealed  in  the  hem  of  the  hand- 
kerchief; but  not  one  of  them  fathomed  the  simple 
mystery,  which  was  always  to  them  a  bewildering 
delight.  Nor  in  a  coffee-house  in  Damascus,  where 
the  khawaja  performed  the  wonder,  late  of  a  night 
before  the  pilgrimage,  did  these  wiser  folk  have  better 
success.  "Why  go  to  Mecca?"  said  a  pious  camel- 
driver  of  the  pilgrims;  "for  have  we  not  here  a 
prophet?" 

"A  feat!"  cried  Mustafa.  "I,  too,  will  perform 
a  feat!" 

We  made  a  ring  in  the  moonlight — and  fell  silent 
and  watchful  while  the  old  fellow  gravely  wound 
his  skirt  about  his  middle.  An  athletic  performance 
— evidently  some  mighty  acrobatic  feat  of  the  desert ! 

"Observe!"  said  Mustafa. 

Our  attention  deepened;  and  Mustafa — having 
bowed  with  much  politeness  to  the  company — 
turned  a  somersault! 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

" Catch  me! "  shouted  the  younger  khawaja.  Here 
was  a  familiar  game;  the  challenge,  though  spoken 
in  English,  needed  no  interpretation.  They  reached 
to  seize  him;  but  the  younger  khawaja  leaped  from 
the  quick  hands  of  the  big  muleteer,  dodged  the  cat- 
spring  of  the  Soudanese,  buffeted  Aboosh,  overturned 
the  Bedouin,  and  darted  off  into  the  moonlight  with 
a  whoop  like  a  shriek  of  a  disappearing  locomotive. 
They  were  after  him  in  a  flash — a  yelping,  giggling, 
hallooing,  guffawing  pack,  leaping  over  the  moonlit 
sand  like  shadows  with  half -fledged  wings.  Wellah! 
but  the  loosed  delight  of  that  pursuit — the  triumph 
of  the  capture!  Then  must  the  fleet  Ali  be  caught, 
the  black,  lean-legged  Soudanese,  which  was  not  hard 
to  do  at  all,  for  at  the  barest  touch  he  screamed  and 
collapsed  like  a  tickled  girl.  The  younger  khawaja 
must  take  Ahmed  on  his  shoulders,  and  the  small 
Abdullah  be  mounted  on  the  gigantic  Mahmoud; 
whereupon,  a  lively  tilting,  done  without  mercy- 
ending  in  the  downfall  of  both.  Ring-around-a-rosy 
— and  the  desert  fairly  groaned  from  the  vigor  of  the 
squatting !  Bull-in-the-ring — a  mad  success !  Crack- 
the-whip — and  the  climax  of  earthly  joy  was  achiev- 
ed. We  put  the  camel-boys  on  the  end  of  the  line; 
we  sent  them  tumbling  head  over  heels — rolling  over 
the  soft  sand  like  rag  balls — far  into  the  farther 
moonlight.  Wellah!  but  they  would  be  cracked 
again.  By  the  Prophet!  the  thing  must  be  done. 
And  we  cracked  them  with  such  joyous  fervor  that 
we  never  expected  to  see  them  more. 

146 


THE  GRAVE   BEDOUIN   DEPARTED 


THE    MAGICAL    MATCH 

In  the  uproar  of  laughter  I  put  my  hand  on  the 
shoulder  of  Ahmed.  "Are  you  happy?"  I  asked. 

"By  God!"  he  swore,  his  hands  clinched  with 
earnestness,  "but  I  am  happy!" 

Mustafa  clamored  to  be  cracked — for  the  very  joy 
said  he,  of  this  swift  flight.  We  indulged  Mustafa ; 
we  put  Mustafa  where  he  craved  to  be,  and  we  grip- 
ped hands  with  a  new  and  mightier  grip,  and  we  ran 
faster,  and  farther,  and  we  turned  more  abruptly, 
and  we  cracked  the  old  gentleman  clean  out  of  sight 
over  the  ridge  of  a  sand-drift. 

"By  Mohammed!"  he  screamed,  returning;  "but 
there  is  a  deep  hole  in  the  desert  where  I  alighted!" 

And  with  this  the  evening's  entertainment  came 
to  an  end. 

It  was  time  to  turn  in.  The  grave  Bedouin  had 
departed  upon  his  journey,  having  given  us  farewell 
with  many  compliments.  The  camp  had  disposed 
itself  to  sleep.  The  fire  was  burned  out.  All  the 
desert  lay  silent  under  the  moon.  There  was  no 
rustle  of  the  palm  leaves,  no  chirp  or  stirring  any- 
where ;  the  whole  world — to  its  uttermost  reaches — 
was  still.  I  walked  with  the  younger  khawaja  to 
smoke  to  the  camels — the  last  employment  of  our 
day.  Presently  he  looked  about  upon  the  forms  of 
our  people  and  guest  of  the  night. 

"These  fellows  are  happy,"  said  he.  "I  think," 
he  added,  "  that  we  have  found  a  good  way  to  travel." 

I  thought  so  too. 

147 


XXVII 

A   WOE-BEGONE    POET 

THERE  came,  once,  a  thick,  hot  dawn:  no  rosy 
color  in  the  east — no  cool  tint  or  stirring  of  the 
air.  Who  had  been  used  to  the  refreshment  and 
cheerful  expectation  of  the  morning  had  now  no 
spirit  for  the  road.  We  labored  into  a  salt-marsh, 
most  foul  and  desolate,  a  dreary  place,  lying  dead 
under  a  sullen  sky:  slimy  pools,  listless  rushes,  a 
crust  of  salty  mud,  through  which  our  horses  floun- 
dered, breaking  now  and  again  to  their  bellies.  When 
we  came  again  to  the  sand,  a  breeze  was  blowing 
from  the  east,  but  brought  no  relief,  being  hot  and 
dry,  as  from  an  oven.  It  rose  quickly  to  a  gale  of 
wind.  The  air  was  all  at  once  dusty  and  unpalatable ; 
the  encompassing  hills  disappeared  in  a  mist  of 
driven  sand — the  road,  vanished  beneath  out  feet. 

Presently,  the  wind  still  rising,  there  was  not  a 
hoof -print  to  be  descried;  the  desert  was  trackless: 
we  were  haplessly — even  perilously — lost.  The  noise 
of  the  gale — a  swish  and  shrieking,  as  at  sea — was  a 
confusing  commotion,  and  the  flying  sand  choked 
and  stung  and  blinded  us.  There  was  nothing  to  be 
seen  in  the  fog  of  dust  but  the  nearer  hills — smoking 

148 


A    WOE-BEGONE    POET 

like  crested  seas  in  a  hurricane — which  the  wind  was 
shaping  anew.  For  hours  we  wandered  westward, 
urging  the  nervous,  complaining  beasts  in  the  direc- 
tion of  water,  which  we  might  not  hope  to  find,  since 
at  best  the  well  was  no  more  than  a  speck  in  that 
wilderness. 

In  the  late  afternoon  we  staggered  by  chance  into 
a  deep  gully,  with  the  wind  howling  overhead;  and 
in  this  sheltered  spot  Aboosh  found  the  hoof -prints  of 
the  road — faintest  depressions,  almost  obliterated  by 
fine  sand  sifting  from  above.  Here,  too — and  to  our 
amazement — we  encountered  a  Mecca  pilgrim,  on 
his  haunches,  his  head  wrapped  in  a  mantle,  waiting 
with  religious  patience  for  the  storm  to  pass.  The 
wind  fell  then,  and  the  heavy  sand-fog  immediately 
settled;  and  following  the  pilgrim's  directions  (he 
had  come  from  Kantara) — depending  somewhat,  too, 
upon  the  configuration  of  the  desert  for  guidance— 
we  came,  by  happy  fortune,  to  the  well  of  Googaa 
long  after  sunset. 

I  caught  Rachid  sitting  worn  and  downcast  at  the 
edge  of  the  palm  grove,  apart  from  the  tents. 

"Here,"  said  I,  "is  a  disconsolate  adventurer!" 

"  We  draw  near  the  end  of  our  journey,"  he  replied, 
"and  I  think  of  a  misfortune  that  has  befallen  me." 

"Of  what  did  you  think  when  the  sand  was  blow- 
ing and  we  were  lost?" 

"  Of  the  goodness  of  Aboosh,  the  excellent  khawaja, 
who  gave  me  his  horse  to  ride." 

149 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

"Of  nothing  else?" 

11  Still,"  he  replied,  "of  my  misfortune.  I  am  like 
the  pious  Mohammedan  who  prayed  for  one  hun- 
dred pieces  of  gold,"  he  proceeded.  "He  conceived 
himself  to  be  of  that  quality  of  holiness  which  opens 
the  heart  of  God  to  every  prayer. 

"'I  desire,'  said  he,  'one  hundred  pieces  of  gold; 
wherefore  I  will  pray  for  it,  and  presently  I  shall 
receive  the  gift  of  every  piastre* 

"Thereupon  he  prayed  both  night  and  day,  be- 
seeching with  diligence,  but  received  no  gift  of  gold 
from  Heaven. 

"'I  will  not  despair,'  said  he;  'still  will  I  continue 
to  pray,  and  eventually  my  piety  shall  be  rewarded.' 

"  For  a  year,  it  is  related,  his  prayer  ascended  con- 
tinuously; and  by  this  time,  so  constant  had  he  been, 
the  habit  of  praying  for  one  hundred  pieces  of  gold 
possessed  him  so  that  he  prayed  upon  every  occa- 
sion, 'O  Lord,  send  me  one  hundred  pieces  of  gold!' 
no  matter  where  he  might  be.  One  day,  sitting  in 
the  shade  of  a  high  wall,  he  besought  the  Lord,  as 
was  his  custom,  crying:  'O  Lord,  give  me  one  hun- 
dred pieces  of  gold!  O  Lord,  send  me  one  hundred 
pieces  of  gold  from  Heaven!'  Instead  of  one  hun- 
dred pieces  of  gold  falling  from  the  heavens,  the  wall, 
in  the  shade  of  which  he  rested,  tumbled  down  upon 
this  pious  Mohammedan:  whereupon,  as  it  is  related, 
he  got  up  from  the  dust,  and,  having  lifted  his  hands 
to  the  sky,  cried,  in  great  indignation: 

"'I  prayed  for  one  hundred  pieces  of  gold,  and 


A    WOE-BEGONE    POET 

have  been  overcome  by  the  descent  of  one  hundred 
cruelly  falling  bricks  from  the  wall  that  I  trusted; 
therefore  I  will  never  pray  again.' 

"  Does  the  khawaja  recall  the  shore  of  the  sea  near 
El  Arish,"  Rachid  continued,  "  where  the  tents  were 
pitched  by  the  date-palms,  and  the  khawaja  drank 
tea  by  the  very  waves,  where  his  poor  servant  had 
placed  the  little  table?  Ah,  but  I  wished  that  we 
might  travel  the  desert  no  longer,  but  forever  stay 
near  the  sea;  and  I  prayed  most  diligently  for  one 
thousand  gold  napoleons,  so  that  I  might  forever 
maintain  the  khawaja  and  all  his  servants  in  that 
place.  I  am  like  the  poor  pious  Mohammedan  of 
the  tale,"  he  continued;  "for,  though  I  prayed  lustily 
for  the  gold,  when  I  went  into  the  water  to  wash  the 
shell  of  the  tortoise  which  the  younger  khawaja  had 
given  to  the  cook  to  boil  clean,  not  only  did  I  find 
no  purse  of  gold  on  the  shore,  but  lost  the  three 
copper  beshliks  that  I  had,  which  slipped  through  a 
hole  in  my  pocket." 

"It  is  a  grave  misfortune,"  said  I. 

"Now,"  he  added,  looking  up,  a  woe-begone  poet, 
indeed,  "  I  am  come  near  a  strange  city,  and  have  not 
a  metallik  to  my  name." 

"Come!"  said  I;  "have  you  not  heard  the  story  of 
The  Diligent  Young  Darwish  of  Al  Busra?" 

Rachid  looked  up  in  cheerful  expectation. 


XXVIII 

THE   DILIGENT   YOUNG   DARWISH    OF   AL   BUSRA 

THIS  story  I  had  from  Ahmed  Ased-Ullah,  of 
Damascus,  the  writer  of  scrolls.  From  his  col- 
lection of  masterpieces  he  had  taken  an  example  of 
the  art  of  Al  Emad  al  Hasani  Shiraz — a  sentence  done 
with  a  reed  pen  upon  parchment.  "  As  all  words  are 
equally  important  to  the  expression  of  the  perfect 
poet,"  said  he,  "  so  here,  too,  by  the  art  of  the  perfect 
writer,  no  word  is  exalted  above  another  by  improper 
display.  Even  so,  there  is  no  monotony — an  en- 
gaging, restful  variety,  indeed,  such  as  the  printing- 
press  cannot  command.  Employ  this  microscope: 
discover  if  you  can  a  ragged  edge  to  any  letter — the 
broadest  shading,  the  thinnest  line.  What  a  pen- 
maker  the  man  was!  With  what  incredible  accuracy 
he  shaped  his  reeds!  Note  the  grace  of  curve,  the 
certainty  of  line :  there  is  no  interruption,  no  failure  of 
symmetry,  no  deviation,  no  sign  of  wavering.  This 
letter,  extremely  removed  from  a  similar  character, 
but  not  differing  a  hair's  -  breadth !  This  broken 
oval — perfected  by  an  imaginary  line!  This  arc,  a 
mere  fragment  of  the  whole,  but  yet  suggesting  the' 
perfect  circle!  This  accent,  perfectly  set  within  its 

152 


AHMED      ASED-ULLAH.     THE      WRITER      OF      SCROLLS 


TI 

atli 


THE    YOUNG   DARWISH   OF    AL    BUSRA 

allotted  space —  And  the  old  man  rattled  on  until 
his  breath  failed. 

I  asked  him  whence  he  had  the  ancient  scrap  of 
writing. 

"We  have  in  Damascus  a  proverb,"  he  answered: 
"He  who  seeks  with  diligence  shall  find.  I  will  an- 
swer your  question  by  telling  a  story.  A  young 
Darwish  of  Al  Busra,  having  come  to  Damascus 
upon  some  pilgrimage,  fell  in  love  with  the  daughter 
of  a  rich  sheik,  whom  he  passed  in  the  street.  Over- 
come by  passion,  he  followed  the  girl  to  her  father's 
house,  where,  bold  beyond  belief,  he  knocked  on 
the  gate,  and  was  presently  admitted  to  the  sheik's 
presence. 

111 1  have  come,'  said  he,  'to  ask  the  hand  of  your 
daughter.' 

"The  sheik  laughed  heartily. 

"He  who  would  have  the  hand  of  my  daugh- 
ter,' he  replied,  'must  bring  rich  gifts  to  urge  his 
suit/ 

"By  this  scornful  behavior  the  poor  Darwish  of 
Al  Bursa  was  not  discouraged,  but  with  good  heart 
asked  the  quality  of  •'-he  gift  he  must  offer.  To  be 
rid  of  him  the  sheik  set  him  an  impossible  task. 

"'Fetch  to  me,'  said  he,  'the  stone  that  is  more 
precious  than  diamonds.' 

"To  this  the  Darwish  agreed,  and,  having  borrow- 
ed two  buckets  from  the  kitchen,  set  out  upon  his 
quest,  followed  by  the  laughter  of  the  sheik  and  all 
his  servants.  When  he  had  traversed  the  desert  to 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

the  south,  he  came  at  last  to  the  Red  Sea,  where  for 
two  months  he  diligently  employed  his  buckets,  be- 
lieving that  a  stone  of  rich  price  must  be  deeply 
hidden.  Bail  as  he  might,  he  made  no  impression 
upon  the  sea,  but  continued  patiently  to  bail.  When 
six  months  had  passed  he  observed  that  the  water  was 
as  high  as  ever.  Not  disheartened,  however,  he  re- 
newed his  diligence,  until,  at  the  end  of  two  years, 
one  day  when  the  tide  was  out  he  came  upon  a  cu- 
rious stone,  which  he  believed  must  be  the  stone  the 
rich  sheik  desired.  So,  travelling  in  high  hope,  he 
came  again  to  Damascus,  and  was  admitted  to  the 
sheik's  presence,  ragged  as  he  was,  and  there  related 
his  adventures. 

"'Now,'  said  he  to  the  sheik,  'I  have  brought 
you  the  stone  that  is  more  precious  than  diamonds.' 

"The  sheik  took  the  stone,  and  perceived  that  it 
was  a  common  stone — a  mere  pebble. 

"'In  exchange,'  continued  the  Darwish,  hopefully, 
'  I  shall  have  the  jewel  that  is  better  than  all.' 

"'By  Allah!'  cried  the  sheik,  'such  diligence 
should  be  rewarded ! '  and  immediately  gave  the  hand 
of  his  daughter  to  the  diligent  young  Darwish  of  Al 
Busra.  And  so,"  concluded  Ahmed  Ased-Ullah, 
"having  sought  with  diligence  an  example  of  the 
genius  of  Al  Emad  al  Hasani  Shiraz,  I  am  rewarded 
in  its  possession." 

I  pointed  the  moral  anew.  "He  who  seeks  with 
diligence  shall  find,"  said  I  to  Rachid;  "though  you 


THE  YOUNG  DARWISH  OF  AL  BUSRA 

have  not  a  metallik  to  your  name,  you  may  yet  possess 
a  fortune." 

"Does  the  khawaja  not  know  another  story?"  he 
asked. 

I  perceived  that,  like  a  child,  he  loved  a  tale,  but 
regarded  a  moral  with  distaste ;  and  to  delight  him  I 
said  that  I  would  tell  the  stories  of  Ahmed  el  Nirizi 
and  The  Ugly  Writer  of  Teheran,  which  also  I  had 
from  Ased-Ullah,  of  Damascus,  the  writer. 


XXIX 

THE   UGLY   WRITER   OF   TEHERAN 

ONG  ago,"  Ahmed  Ased-Ullah  began,  in  Da- 
mascus,  "there  was  a  writer,  Ahmed  el  Nirizi, 
who,  having  arrayed  himself  as  became  a  man  of  his 
fame,  set  out  upon  a  journey  to  the  country  of  a  power- 
ful sheik  of  Nejd,  but  was  unhappily  set  upon  by 
Bedouin  robbers  in  the  mountains  between.  Stripped 
to  his  shirt,  dispossessed  of  all  that  he  had  except 
his  ink  and  his  paper,  which  he  had  fortunately  con- 
cealed, he  still  proceeded  to  the  city  of  the  sheik, 
hoping  there  to  find  favor  sufficient  for  his  re-estab- 
lishment, but  was  denied  at  the  door  of  the  sheik's 
palace  because  of  his  scanty  apparel  and  beggarly, 
woebegone  air.  Day  after  day,  however,  he  renewed 
his  request,  insistently  repeating,  notwithstanding 
the  scorn  of  the  sheik's  men,  that  he  was  Ahmed  el 
Nirizi,  the  writer,  until  at  last,  in  order  that  his  im- 
portunity might  be  stopped,  he  was  received  by  the 
sheik's  eldest  son,  to  whom  he  told  the  tale  of  his 
misfortunes. 

'What!*  cried  the  sheik's  son,  in  amazement. 
'  Here,  surely,  is  an  impudent  impostor.  This  naked 
beggar  cannot  be  Ahmed  el  Nirizi,  the  writer!' 

156 


SPECIMEN      OF     WRITING     OF     THE     PERSIAN      SCHOOL 

Tic  inscription  in  the  lower  left-hand  corner  reads,  "  Done  by  the 
master,  Mohammed   Rachid,  may  God   forgive  him  " 


THE    UGLY   WRITER   OF    TEHERAN 

"Ahmed  el  Nirizi  stoutly  maintained  that  the 
shirt  which  measured  the  Bedouins'  compassion  did 
indeed  cover  the  body  of  none  other  than  the  famous 
Ahmed  el  Nirizi. 

"' Though  I  have  been  robbed  of  my  raiment,' 
said  he,  '  I  have  not  been  stripped  of  my  skill.' 

"  Pleased  with  this  alliteration,  the  prince  com- 
mended him,  but  was  still  not  convinced.  So  Ahmed 
el  Nirizi  took  a  reed  from  his  silver  horn,  which  was 
slung  from  his  belt,  shaped  it  with  a  knife,  command- 
ing such  care  as  he  could,  and  wrote  nine  of  the 
ninety-nine  names  of  Allah,  with  a  hand  that  waver- 
ed, to  be  sure,  but  still  in  a  way  to  shame  neither  the 
grace  and  proportion  which  celebrated  his  manner 
nor  the  arrangement  which  still  further  distinguished 
him. 

" '  It  is  well  done, '  said  the  sheik's  son.  'Observe, 
now,'  said  he,  'that  though  you  shaped  your  pen 
with  a  knife,  I  shape  mine  with  my  finger  nail." 

"Having  then  fashioned  a  rude  instrument,  he 
wrote,  with  some  art,  an  order  upon  his  father's 
treasurer  for  five  hundred  tomauns,  to  be  paid  to 
whomsoever  should  present  it,  and  gave  the  example 
of  his  skill  to  Ahmed  el  Nirizi. 

" '  Which  now,'  said  he, '  is  the  better  writing,  yours 
or  mine?' 

"Ahmed  el  Nirizi  had  not  taught  the  sons  of  a 
Shah  for  nothing.  He  was  ready  for  the  puzzle. 

"'By  all  means/  he  answered,  delighted  with  the 
task,  '  yours  is  the  better. ' 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

'"Is  it  so?'  cried  the  sheik's  son,  enraged  by  this 
flattery.  'Then/  said  he,  withdrawing  the  order 
from  the  hand  of  Ahmed  el  Nirizi  and  tearing  it  in 
a  thousand  pieces,  'you  shall  prove  it,  or,  by  the 
Prophet,  it  shall  be  the  worse  for  you!' 

'"As  two  are  greater  than  one,'  answered  Ahmed 
el  Nirizi,  readily,  'so  is  your  writing  greater  than 
mine.' 

"The  prince  demanded  an  explanation. 

'"My  writing  is  beautiful,  it  is  true,'  said  Ahmed 
el  Nirizi;  'but  yours,'  he  added,  touching  his  heart 
and  lips  and  brow, '  is  both  beautiful  and  beneficent.' 

"The  sheik's  son  was  so  delighted  with  the  al- 
literation and  with  the  answer,"  Ahmed  Ased-Ullah 
concluded,  "that  he  immediately  drew  an  order  for 
one  thousand  tomauns  and  presented  it  to  Ahmed 
el  Nirizi." 

Rachid,  much  pleased  with  the  tale,  demanded 
the  story  of  The  Ugly  Writer  of  Teheran,  which 
forthwith  I  related:  Aba  al  Kasem  al  Darwish,  a 
Persian,  who  held  his  skill  in  higher  regard  than  his 
life,  and,  indeed,  had  nothing  else  to  esteem,  because 
he  had  no  personal  attractions,  sought  a  commission 
from  AH  Shah,  thinking  to  establish  his  fame  as  a 
court  writer  and  in  this  way  be  remembered.  "If  I 
please  the  King,"  thought  he,  "then,  indeed,  shall 
I  be  famous."  It  was  a  bold  thing  to  do,  and  Aba  al 
Kasem  was  warned,  but  continued  obdurate,  deter- 
mined at  whatever  cost  to  be  remembered. 


THE    UGLY    WRITER    OF   TEHERAN 

"What!"  cried  the  Shah,  when  the  petition  was 
presented.  "  Shall  I,  who  have  to  do  with  soldiers 
and  scholars,  speak  with  a  mere  penman?  Dismiss 
the  impertinent  fellow!  I  will  have  nothing  to  do 
with  a  man  of  so  mean  an  occupation." 

But  this  unfortunate  disposition  toward  the  fine 
arts  was  presently  overcome,  and  Aba  al  Kasem  al 
Darwish  was  admitted  to  the  presence.  No  sooner 
had  the  unhappy  man  entered  than  the  Shah  started 
back  with  an  ejaculation  of  horror  and  disgust.  The 
writer  was  indeed  the  ugliest  of  creatures.  No  grace 
of  the  graces  of  form  and  feature  had  been  vouch- 
safed to  him,  nor,  to  mend  his  appearance,  had  he 
acquired  the  least  accomplishment  of  manner;  so 
that,  indeed,  he  was  more  agreeable  to  the  company 
of  camel-drivers  than  the  audience  of  kings.  He 
was  hunchbacked  and  hairy,  cross-eyed,  clubfooted, 
bandylegged,  and  his  hair  fell  wild  and  matted  over 
his  shoulders,  his  beard  far  below  his  middle,  his 
hands  repulsively  below  his  knees.  He  had  nothing 
to  recommend  him  to  the  favor  of  the  world  but  the 
delicate  skill  with  which  he  employed  his  reed  pens: 
and  concerning  this  he  knew  very  well. 

"This  is  not  Aba  al  Kasem  al  Darwish!"  cried  the 
Shah.  "Conduct  him  hence.  I  shall  lose  sleep  on 
account  of  him." 

The  Shah  was  informed  that  this  was  Aba  al 
Kasem  and  none  other. 

"  What!"  cried  he,  covering  his  eyes  from  the  sight 
of  the  writer's  ugliness.  "It  is  impossible!  This 

159 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

cannot  be  Aba  al  Kasem  al  Darwish,  whose  art  has 
delighted  me!  How  can  the  very  perfection  of  beauty 
proceed  from  a  form  so  horrible?" 

"It  is  I,"  Aba  al  Kasem  insisted. 

"Then,"  demanded  the  Shah,  "in  God's  name, 
where  were  you  when  God  distributed  the  various 
graces  of  person?" 

"When  God  gathered  the  sons  of  men  together 
to  receive  these  pretty  gifts,"  said  Aba  al  Kasem, 
scornfully,  "I  was  busily  engaged." 

"Got  you  no  share?" 

"I  was  absent,"  answered  Aba  al  Kasem,  "upon 
a  quest." 

"Unfortunate  man!"  cried  the  Shah;  "what  did 
you  find  to  compare  with  that  which  you  have  lost?" 

"That  very  perfection  of  beauty"  answered  Aba  al 
Kasem,  quickly,  "of  which  your  Majesty  has  made 
mention." 

By  this  the  Shah  was  so  delighted  that  he  com- 
mended Aba  al  Kasem's  devotion,  and  commissioned 
him  to  inscribe  a  Koran  with  such  illumination  as 
had  never  been  known  before. 

"I  forget  my  sadness,"  said  Rachid.  "Does  the 
khawaja  not  know  one  more  story?" 

"Time  passes,"  I  objected. 

"But  the  khawaja  is  washed,"  he  insisted,  "and 
Elias  has  not  yet  called  to  supper." 

I  told  the  tale  of  The  Shirt  of  the  Only  Contented 
Man. 

1 60 


XXX 

THE   SHIRT   OF   THE   CONTENTED   MAN 

THERE  was  once  a  Sultan,"  said  I,,  "who  fell 
ill,  and  was  greatly  distressed  by  his  ailment, 
which  sadly  interfered   with  certain  plans  he  had 
made  for  the  conquest  of  his  enemy. 

'"A  physician  to  cure  me,'  he  cried,  'that  I  may 
proceed  upon  my  business ! ' 

The  court  physician,  failing  to  cure  him  overnight, 
was  decapitated  the  next  morning. 

'"Another!'  cried  the  Sultan;  'and  if  he  fails,  as 
this  one,  he  shall  suffer  the  same  fate.' 

"The  second  physician,  signally  failing  to  ease  the 
Sultan's  pain  before  dawn,  lost  his  head  before  noon. 
A  third,  with  remarkable  temerity,  presented  him- 
self, and  vanished  from  the  sphere  of  his  endeavor. 
And  so  it  went  on,  day  by  day,  until  the  kingdom 
was  depleted  of  physicians,  save  only  one,  who  was 
summoned  to  the  Sultan's  presence. 

'Your  Majesty  is  in  evil  case,'  said  he.  'Within 
my  experience  I  have  met  with  but  one  other  so 
grievously  situated,  and  he  was  a  donkey-driver. 
To  be  cured  of  your  affliction,'  the  physician  un- 
hesitatingly prescribed,  'your  Majesty  must  sleep  in 
the  shirt  of  a  contented  man.' 

161 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

"  Pleased  with  this  curious  advice,  the  like  of  which 
no  other  physician  had  offered,  the  Sultan  command- 
ed seven  contented  men  to  be  fetched  before  him, 
thinking  to  choose  a  shirt  to  his  liking.  But  look 
high  and  low,  as  his  ministers  did,  no  contented  man 
was  to  be  found  in  the  kingdom;  whereupon  the  im- 
patient Sultan  commanded  the  search  to  be  carried 
yet  more  distantly,  even  to  the  desert  and  mountains 
beyond  his  domain.  After  three  months,  during 
which  the  Sultan  suffered  excruciating  pain,  a  fort- 
unate emissary  chanced  upon  an  object  of  the  search, 
a  contented  man,  who  inhabited  a  wretched  cave 
in  the  mountains,  and  was  the  most  destitute  of  all 
the  creatures  of  that  neighborhood — a  hermit,  ill- 
nourished,  ill-clad,  and  meanly  housed. 

" '  It  is  true,'  said  the  hermit.  *  I  am  a  contented 
man.  I  possess  all  that  I  want.  I  lack  nothing  of 
my  need  or  desire/ 

"Upon  this  admission  they  haled  him  into  the 
presence  of  the  Sultan. 

"'Come,'  cried  the  Sultan,  weary  of  his  pain,  'off 
with  your  shirt!' 

"But  it  was  unhappily  true,"  I  concluded,  "that 
the  contented  man  had  no  shirt!" 

Rachid  laughed. 

Here  at  the  Well  of  Googaa  was  our  last  camp 
made  in  the  desert;  we  should  next  pitch  tents,  the 
day  favoring  our  journey,  on  the  bank  of  the  Suez 
Canal,  at  Kantara,  whence  our  followers  would  re- 

162 


WE      MADE      OUR      CAMP      BY      THE      WELL 


SHIRT    OF   THE    CONTENTED    MAN 

turn  to  Jerusalem  with  the  caravan  by  the  way  we 
had  come,  leaving  us  to  take  train  to  Cairo.  We  had 
no  camp-fire ;  the  camel-boys  and  Hamed  had  search- 
ed the  nearer  sand  for  something  to  burn,  but  had  re- 
turned empty-handed,  the  neighborhood  having  long 
ago  been  swept  by  passing  travellers.  The  wind  had 
gone  down,  however,  and  presently  the  moon  was 
up;  and  the  younger  khawaja  and  I  sat  with  Aboosh 
by  the  door  of  the  tent — and  the  muleteers  and 
camel-drivers  squatted  on  the  sand — and  we  had 
travelled  far  and  companionably  together — and  we 
were  comfortable  enough  (if  somewhat  melancholy) 
on  this  last  night  alone.  Ali  Mahmoud,  the  big 
muleteer,  and  Mustafa,  the  camel-driver,  demanded 
to  know  more  of  that  Abdullah  from  Ain  el  Kaum, 
the  rascally  camel-trader  with  whom  the  khawaja 
had  fallen  in  at  the  khan  of  the  camel-drivers  in 
Damascus  on  the  night  before  the  pilgrimage. 

It  seemed  that  the  man's  rascality  was  appealing 
to  them  all,  and  I  indulged  them  with  Abdullah's 
tale  of  The  Camel  with  the  Glass  Eyes. 


XXXI 

THE  CAMEL  WITH  THE  GLASS  EYES 

YOU  will  recall  that  the  camel-trading  Abdullah 
from  Ain  el  Kaum,  sitting  in  the  balcony  above 
the  stable-yard  of  the  khan  in  Damascus,  told  the 
tale  of  The  Dog  Which  Bit  the  Stranger  and  that 
engaging  story  of  The  Needle  and  Thread.  Hav- 
ing recited  the  latter,  he  was  silent  for  a  moment; 
and  then,  all  at  once,  he  leaned  forward,  with  a  vain 
little  grin.  "A  rich  American  lady,"  said  he,  con- 
fidingly, "once  fell  in  love  with  me.  It  was  my 
beauty.  She  was  overcome  by  it."  Here  was  a 
foolish  vanity — betrayed  to  the  uttermost  in  a  silly 
little  laugh.  "She  loved  me  very  much,"  Ab- 
dullah continued,  "and  would  have  me  to  America 
with  her;  and  when  I  denied  her,  she  had  a  mark 
tattooed  upon  my  arm.  'By  this  mark/  said  she, 
'you  will  know  that  my  love  is  everlasting.  When 
you  come  to  me,  my  life  will  be  resumed ;  but  if  you 
linger,  I  perish.'  No  doubt,"  Abdullah  concluded, 
with  pride,  "she  has  now  perished  of  her  love." 

It  is  a  familiar  thing  (I  recall) — the  incident  of  the 
lady  tourist  and  the  flirtatious  Arab — but  God 
knows  why!  I  had  heard  tales  of  the  disagreeable 

164 


THE    CAMEL   WITH    THE   GLASS   EYES 

mystery — of  the  ruin  wrought  by  it;  and  I  now  as- 
sumed that  some  other  woman  had  indeed  pitiably 
forgotten  her  race  for  the  moment,  but  was  now  re- 
covered, not  perished  of  her  love,  as  Abdullah  would 
have  it.  The  thing  was  not  interesting — but  most 
melancholy — until  Abdullah  lifted  the  sleeve  of  his 
abba  to  exhibit  the  mark  of  the  lady's  poor  infatua- 
tion; and  then  I  laughed,  and  was  downcast  no  more, 
for  the  mark  was  as  old  as  Abdullah's  infancy,  having 
grown  with  his  growth,  being  now  blurred,  not  clear- 
cut  of  outline,  as  tattoo  marks  must  be  if  made  upon 
the  full-grown  person. 

"  Tell  Abdullah,  in  the  most  elegant  Arabic  at  your 
command,"  I  said  to  the  Interpreter,  "that  he  is  a 
hearty  liar — and  a  most  engaging  one." 

"If  my  service  is  occasionally  inadequate,"  the 
Interpreter  answered,  bowing,  "it  shall  now  at  least 
be  abundantly  sufficient." 

"Fire  away!"  said  I. 

The  Interpreter  was  occupied  for  some  time;  and 
at  the  end  of  it  Abdullah  was  somewhat  offended, 
but  was  presently  mollified,  so  that  he  proceeded  to 
relate  the  tale  of  the  camel  with  the  glass  eyes,  at 
which  he  had  previously  hinted. 

"In  a  small  village  on  the  Beirut  road,"  said  he, 
"lives  my  relative;  and  sojourning  once  with  him, 
on  my  way  to  Damascus,  with  Hassan,  my  son,  I 
encountered  a  camel — and  loved  it.  My  admira- 
tion, khawaja,  was  like  a  fever  consuming  me;  and  I 

165 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

must  have  that  camel,  I  knew,  or  perish.  But  the 
camel  was  unworthy,  after  all — a  beast  fair  to  the 
eye  but  afflicted  with  madness,  so  that  no  man  was 
safe  as  his  master.  Had  I  not  been  a  camel-doctor, 
with  knowledge  of  the  split  tail  and  compound  of 
seven  medicines,  I  should  have  hesitated  to  seek 
further  acquaintance  in  the  direction  of  my  desire; 
but  camel-doctor  that  I  was — and  am  now  so  serving 
the  pilgrims — I  possessed  the  secret  of  this  cure,  and 
must  have  that  beast.  It  is  a  simple  thing :  split  the 
tail  of  the  mad  camel,  so  that  the  blood  flow  to  the 
measure  of  a  pint;  pucker  the  skin  of  the  brow  in 
three  folds,  which  must  be  fixed  to  remain  with  seven 
stitches,  done  with  a  clean  needle;  administer,  then, 
the  compound  of  seven  medicines,  and  the  affliction 
passes  forever. 

"'Come!'  said  I  to  this  man,  'I  am  not  afraid  of 
your  camel;  let  us  trade.' 

"He  was  over  willing  to  bargain,  khawaja,  else  I 
should  never  have  managed  to  outwit  him  in  the 
manner  you  shall  presently  hear;  but  he  laughed 
most  heartlessly  at  my  camel  when  I  led  him  forth 
to  trade.  And,  indeed,  I  was  in  hard  case;  for  my 
camel  was  blind — so  blind,  khawaja,  that  his  eyes 
were  white  with  the  cataract,  and  no  man  with  eyes 
of  his  own  could  fail  to  observe  the  affliction. 

"My  camel,  as  I  must  tell  you,  being  a  truthful 
man/  said  I,  'is  blind.' 

"'I  had  rather,'  he  answered,  'have  a  mad  camel 
than  a  blind  one.  There  is  no  profit  in  talking 

166 


THE   CAMEL   WITH    THE    GLASS   EYES 

further  of  this  matter,  for,  by  the  Prophet!  your 
camel  would  never  win  my  affection.' 

'Your  wisdom,'  I  answered,  'wins  my  respect. 
A  blind  camel,  which  should  bear  burdens,  is  himself 
a  burden.  Observe  my  camel,'  said  I,  'how  very 
blind  he  is.  Observe  him  carefully.  Was  there  ever 
so  blind  a  camel  before?  I  would  know  that  camel/ 
said  I,  'in  a  herd  of  a  thousand.' 

'"And  I,  by  Allah!'  said  he,  with  much  laughter, 
'  in  a  company  of  ten  thousand/ 

'"I  will  lead  my  camel  away,'  said  I,  'lest  his 
affliction  offend  you,  and  to-morrow  I  will  depart 
for  Damascus ;  but  in  six  days  I  will  return,  bringing 
another  camel,  which  I  will  exchange  for  this  mad 
beast,  for  I  love  it.' 

"Thus  it  fell  out.  In  the  morning  I  departed; 
and  having  come  to  Damascus,  I  removed  the  eyes 
from  my  blind  camel,  and  inserted  glass  eyes  in  their 
stead;  and  I  shaved  him  with  much  care,  and  sad- 
dled him  with  new  cloth.  Then  I  set  out  for  the 
small  village  where  dwelt  my  relative,  to  which,  as 
I  had  planned,  I  came  at  dusk,  God  befriending  me 
in  this  undertaking. 

'"I  am  in  much  haste/  I  said  to  the  owner  of  the 
camel  that  I  loved,  'else  I  would  not  trouble  you  with 
bargaining  to-night;  but  if  you  would  be  rid  of  your 
mad  camel,  the  thing  must  be  accomplished  at  once.' 

"  He  examined  my  camel,  khawaja,  in  the  dusk,  as 
I  had  intended,  and  he  fell  in  love  with  the  beast, 
as  I  had  foreseen. 

12  167 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

" '  Here  is  no  blind  camel,'  said  he,  over  willing  to 
be  rid  of  his  mad  one,  'and  I  will  trade/ 

"  Thus  we  traded,  the  thing  being  done  in  the  pres- 
ence of  witnesses,  according  to  the  man's  request; 
and  I  went  to  my  relative's  house  three  hundred 
piastres  the  richer;  but  the  owner  of  the  camel  with 
the  glass  eyes  set  out  on  the  back  of  his  beast  to  try 
it,  light  remaining  for  this,  and  I  saw  him  no  more 
until  morning,  when  he  came  to  me  in  a  great  de- 
pression of  spirits. 

"A  strange  thing  has  happened',  said  he.  'My 
camel  has  lost  both  eyes.  They  have  dropped  out, 
and  I  cannot  find  them,  search  as  I  may.' 

"'The  will  of  God,'  I  answered,  'is  mysterious.' 
"I  have  come,'  said  he,  'to  undo  the  trade.' 
'"I  am  not  averse,'   I   answered.     'Restore  the 
eyes  to  my  camel,  and  I  will  gladly  give  you  back 
your  own.' 

"But  this,"  Abdullah  concluded,  with  a  chuckle, 
'the  unfortunate  man  could  not  do." 
"Here,"  said  I,  "is  a  tale  of  your  invention." 
"By  God!"  he  answered,  "the  story  is  true." 
"It  is  a  tale,"  I  insisted,  "of  your  own  invention." 
"By  God  and  Mohammed!"  he  swore,  "the  story 
is  true." 

I  taunted  him  again. 

"  By  God  and  Mohammed  the  Messenger  of  God!" 
he  protested,  "the  story  is  true  as  I  have  told  it." 

All  these  Bedouins  are  great  oath-dodgers — artful 
at  swearing,  with  reservations.  It  is  an  excellent 

1 68 


THE  CAMEL  WITH  THE  GLASS  EYES 

thing;  so  many  oaths  they  take  that  some  way  of 
escape  from  an  ever-flowing  perjury  is  demanded. 
I  fancied  now — sacred  as  the  last  oath  had  been — 
that  Abdullah  was  tricking  me ;  he  must  surely  have 
his  fingers  crossed  in  the  big  sleeves.  I  required  him 
to  swear  by  his  head  and  his  religion,  vowing  to  put 
away  his  wife  if  he  failed  in  any  particular  of  the 
truth:  which  is  an  oath  (they  say)  that  no  Bedouin 
will  violate. 

"The  khawa^a  knows,"  Abdullah  answered,  with 
a  gentle  smile,  "that  the  oath  is  impossible!" 

So  I  do  not  believe  the  tale  of  The  Camel  with  the 
Glass  Eyes;  but  it  is  a  pleasantly  fantastic  invention, 
and  I  wish  that  I  might.  To  the  reality  of  the  tales 
of  The  Needle  and  Thread  and  The  Dog  Which  Bit 
the  Stranger,  Abdullah  gravely  swore,  taking  the 
threefold  oath.  They  are  true,  it  seems;  but  what 
matter?  since,  at  any  rate,  they  reflect  the  manner 
of  his  life,  and  present  in  an  agreeably  entertaining 
fashion  the  ethics  of  his  business.  Here  was  this 
Abdullah,  no  adherent  of  his  tribe,  which,  to  become 
a  wandering  camel-trader,  he  had  deserted,  much  to 
the  shame  of  him  in  the  sight  of  all  good  Bedouins, 
who  despise  the  man  that  yields  his  tribal  identity 
to  become  a  wandering  individual.  The  ease  and 
security  of  the  towns  had  overcome  him;  he  had  now 
no  stomach  for  the  desert.  "It  is  a  life,"  said  he, 
"of  starvation  and  blood-letting,  a  life  of  the  beasts, 
and  I  have  found  a  better."  This  better  had  at 

169 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

present  to  do  with  the  pilgrimage;  but  was  no  hearty 
occupation,  like  that  of  the  camel-masters,  who  in 
these  days  of  preparation  come  in  from  the  wilder- 
ness and  truculently  strut  the  bazars.  As  I  sub- 
sequently learned,  Abdullah  was  a  leech  upon  the 
pilgrimage — at  one  with  the  thieves  and  cut-throats 
and  all  manner  of  evil  men  who  follow,  but  was  of 
a  more  subtle  and  respectable  class. 

It  seemed,  however  (I  recall),  that  he  loved  his 
young  son  overmuch,  as  do  all  Bedouin  fathers,  and 
would  have  him  lead  no  life  of  the  desert,  but  attend 
the  Moslem  schools  of  Damascus,  that  he  might  be 
an  itinerant  teacher  of  the  Koran  in  the  desert  towns. 

"But  Hassan,  my  son,"  he  sighed,  "is  of  the 
lion-heart;  he  is  impatient  for  the  sword  and  the 
night  expeditions  of  our  tribe.  Before  long  he  will 
be  away  to  the  desert." 

"What,  now,"  I  inquired,  idly,  "will  his  mother 
think  of  that?" 

"  What  matter?"  Abdullah  answered,  much  bored. 

I  ventured  a  curious  suggestion.  "Suppose,"  I 
said,  "that  this  Hassan  learned  the  arts  of  war  in 
England?" 

"And  returned?"  Abdullah  demanded,  quickly. 

"Even  so." 

Abdullah  laughed  a  little.  "  Whe-e-e-e-w!"  he 
whistled.  "He  would  to  his  tribe  add  a  hundred 
tribes,"  he  declared,  with  eyes  aflash.  "There 
would  in  twenty  years  be  a  new  prince  in  the  desert 
—a  prince  like  Ibn  Rachid!" 

170 


THE   CAMEL  WITH    THE    GLASS   EYES 

We  did  not  pursue  this;  and  presently  Abdullah, 
having  rolled  another  cigarette,  told,  with  a  quick 
change  of  manner,  the  story  of  the  merchant  of  Da- 
mascus and  his  venture  into  Nejd,  as  if  he  had  but 
now  recollected  it. 


XXXII 

THE   HONEST   TRADER   OF   NEJD 

"TN  my  life,"  said  he,  "I  have  roved  much — from 
1  the  Lebanon  hills,  through  the  country  of  the 
Druses,  and  to  the  southward  a  journey  of  ninety  days 
into  the  Great  Desert,  where  'io  Christian  may  go. 
To  Nejd  went  I  in  my  youth,  with  my  uncle,  a  rich 
man,  who  dwelt  there,  dealing  in  camels;  and  to  him 
came  a  merchant  of  Damascus,  with  three  hundred 
camels  for  sale,  the  which  he  had  driven  for  thirty 
days  over  the  perilous  desert,  having  heard  that 
sickness  had  created  a  need  of  beasts  in  Nejd. 

'"I  am  come  with  these  three  hundred  camels,' 
said  he  to  my  uncle,  '  and  now  I  must  sell  them  at  a 
price  or  lose  the  fortune  I  have  invested  in  the  enter- 
prise. God  forgive  me  this  undertaking,  which  has 
been  too  great  for  my  strength !  I  am  worn  out  with 
travelling,  and  in  haste  to  return.  In  Damascus,' 
said  he,  'they  ask  twelve  napoleons  for  a  camel; 
but  I  am  so  weary  of  this  business  that  I  demand  no 
more  than  ten  napoleons  for  each  of  my  herd.' 

"It  is  a  reasonable  thing,'  my  uncle  answered, 
'  but  I  must  first  consider  the  matter.  Do  you  meet 
me  at  this  place  to-morrow  morning,  and  we  will  talk 

172 


THE    HONEST    TRADER   OF    NEJD 

further  of  the  business.     Your  camels  are  excellent 
beasts,  and  I  would  possess  them.' 

''Thereupon  the  merchant  departed;  and  presently 
my  uncle  called  me  from  the  house. 

"Abdullah/  said  he,  'you  have  heard  this  man, 
but  he  has  not  observed  you.  He  is  a  simple  man, 
now  in  hard  case  indeed,  being  able  to  drive  his 
starved  beasts  no  farther,  and  God  has  enlightened 
me  with  a  plan  to  outwit  him.  Do  you  ride  into  the 
desert,  where  he  may  not  encounter  you  before  the 
time;  and  at  this  hour  to-morrow  do  you  return  and 
present  me  with  this  writing,  riding  in  haste  and  as 
one  come  from  a  great  distance.  If  all  goes  well, 
we  shall  presently  have  much  to  thank  God  for.' 

"All  this  I  did — and,  indeed,  with  much  art.  I 
came  hot  and  dusty,  with  the  mare  in  a  lather,  gallop- 
ing as  with  a  message  of  warning  against  sudden 
attack;  and  I  fell  from  the  back  of  my  horse  at  the 
very  feet  of  my  uncle  and  the  merchant  from  Da- 
mascus, crying: 

'"God  be  thanked  that  I  have  arrived!  I  have 
sped  far  and  most  cruelly  with  this  letter,  being  com- 
manded to  deliver  it  in  haste  by  your  agent  in  Da- 
mascus.' 

'"I  am  busy  with  this  good  merchant,'  answered 
my  uncle,  'and  will  read  the  letter  anon.' 

"But  I  besought  him  by  the  Prophet  to  open  the 
message,  lest  some  misfortune  befall  him ;  and  having 
indulged  me,  he  gave  great  thanks  to  God  for  His 
compassion,  and  spread  the  news  which  the  letter 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

contained,  whereafter  he  came  again  to  the  anxious 
merchant,  but  now  with  a  woful  countenance. 

"'God  have  mercy  on  you!'  said  he.  'I  have  no 
need  of  your  camels.' 

"The  merchant  demanded  an  explanation. 

"'The  price  of  camels,'  answered  my  uncle,  'has 
fallen  to  five  napoleons  in  the  camel-market  of  Da- 
mascus. Here!'  said  he,  'read  the  letter  for  your- 
self. I  grieve  for  you,  friend,  for  it  seems  indeed 
that  God  would  castigate  you  for  some  sin.  Come!' 
said  he,  '  I  am  an  honest  man,  with  a  heart  of  com- 
passion for  the  unfortunate,  and  though  I  hesitate 
to  interfere  with  the  obvious  purposes  of  God,  I  will 
take  pity,  and  risk  my  soul's  health  by  giving  you 
four  napoleons  a  head  for  your  camels.' 

"The  end  of  it  was,"  Abdullah  concluded,  "that 
when  they  had  bargained  for  seven  days,  the  mer- 
chant being  hard  to  reduce,  my  uncle  gave  six 
napoleons  for  each  of  the  three  hundred  camels,  and 
profited  much  thereby;  for  there  was  a  great  need 
of  beasts  in  Nejd  at  that  time.  I  learned  much," 
he  added,  "from  that  cunning  man." 

We  left  Abdullah  then,  for  it  was  grown  very  late ; 
but  something  I  saw  of  him  afterward,  before  the 
pilgrims  set  out  for  Mecca  by  God's  Gate,  and  though 
I  could  conceive  no  friendly  feeling  for  him,  because 
of  his  villany,  I  still  must  entertain  myself  with  the 
display.  Upon  the  occasion  of  departure  I  chanced 
to  bid  him  God-speed.  The  day  was  fair  and  warm, 

174 


THE      SHOP      OF      A      TRADER 


THE    HONEST    TRADER    OF    NEJD 

the  streets  thronged,  the  town  in  a  commotion  of 
joyous  excitement.  There  was  no  solemnity,  except 
that  settled  upon  the  faces  of  the  day-long  streaming 
procession;  there  was  no  shower  of  blessings  from 
the  roofs  of  the  houses,  nor  bombardment  of  holy 
injunctions  from  the  bazars  of  the  Medan,  as  men 
and  beasts  went  by,  but  a  lively  bantering  and  tart 
criticism,  as  greets  a  parade  in  our  own  land.  Be- 
yond the  city  we  stood  to  watch  the  passing  of  these 
poor  folk. 

I  observed  presently  a  long  string  of  camels  bear- 
ing no  burdens. 

"What  camels  are  these,"  I  asked,  "and  why  are 
they  thus  favored?" 

"These  camels,"  they  answered,  "will  take  up 
the  burdens  of  the  beasts  which  perish  in  the  desert." 

I  wondered  that  in  the  organization  of  the  pil- 
grimage an  official  consideration  of  this  magnitude 
had  been  shown.  But  I  was  presently  enlightened ; 
here  was  nothing  official  at  all,  but  a  private  enter- 
prise. Strutting  behind  his  string  of  beasts,  having 
not  yet  taken  to  the  saddle,  came  Abdullah  from 
Ain  el  Kaum;  and  when  I  clapped  eyes  on  him  I 
understood.  Here  were  camels  for  sale  to  the  un- 
fortunate, who  would  pay  through  the  nose  for  their 
misfortunes.  The  trader  ran  from  the  road  to  kiss 
our  hands;  and  we  gave  him  God-speed,  according 
to  the  form.  He  waved  his  hand  again,  shouted, 
"For  God  and  Mohammed!"  and  disappeared  in  the 
confusion.  That  was  the  last  we  saw  of  him.  In 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

Cairo,  six  weeks  afterward,  when  he  should  be  arriv- 
ing at  his  journey's  end,  I  learned  that  the  pilgrims 
were  dying  of  the  plague  in  Mecca  at  the  appalling 
rate  of  nearly  five  hundred  a  day. 


XXXIII 

ON  THE   ROAD   TO   KANTARA 

WE  were  now  come  to  the  last  day 's  riding  toward 
Cairo — Googaa  westward  to  the  Suez  Canal  at 
Kantara.  It  was  melancholy  enough,  indeed — the 
nearing  end  of  these  weeks'  placid  desert  travelling 
from  Jerusalem ;  but  yet  remained  one  day  of  sandy 
open  and  the  last  encampment  of  our  journey. 
When  we  emerged  from  the  tent  in  response  to  the 
urging  dragoman,  it  was  to  the  wet  shadows  of  dawn 
and  the  sullen  haste  of  breaking  camp — to  the  prom- 
ise of  hot  weather,  too,  I  observed :  no  cool  glow  of 
morning,  rosily  expanding,  but  a  long  wound  of  crim- 
son light  in  the  eastern  sky,  appearing  feverish.  The 
world  beyond,  thought  I,  was  already  a  blistering 
place,  its  ways  listlessly  followed  in  the  beating 
yellow  light;  and  beyond — infinitely  far  beyond  the 
horizon  of  this  vacant  desert — the  sun  had  now  gone 
down  upon  the  snow  of  our  own  land,  and  the  night 
air  was  there  left  still  and  frosty  and  blue. 

Mustafa,  the  entertaining  camel-driver,  who  of  our 
caravan  was  first  to  be  under  way  with  his  slow 
beasts,  was  waiting  to  give  the  khawaja  the  saluta- 
tions; and  having  politely  performed  this  ceremony 

177 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

with  his  teeth  chattering — the  wind  blew  bitterly 
chill  from  the  north  while  the  earth  waited  for  the 
sun — he  went  his  noiseless  way  into  the  shadowy 
west,  trailing  after  his  string  of  camels,  the  camel- 
boys  and  swaying  beasts  grown  gigantic  in  the  slow 
dawn.  It  was  broad  day,  cheerful  weather  and  a 
fresh  wind,  when  we  mounted  to  follow;  and  those 
of  us  who  were  accustomed  to  ride  together  moved 
off  at  a  footpace  into  the  sand,  heartily  breakfasted 
and  eager  for  the  road,  leaving  Ali  Mahmoud  and 
his  muleteers  to  load  the  unwilling  beasts. 

We  had  not  gone  far,  however,  before  we  were 
interrupted  by  a  cry  from  the  camp;  and  upon  this 
we  turned  sharply,  to  discover  a  Bedouin  in  flying 
pursuit,  his  young  son  following — a  man  of  im- 
poverished estate,  it  seemed  from  his  patches  and 
tatters,  when  he  had  overtaken  us. 

"This  poor  man,"  said  Aboosh,  presently,  "would 
offer  a  petition." 

"Of  what  nature?"  I  asked. 

"He  has  been  wronged  by  his  enemy,"  the  drago- 
man answered,  "and  seeks  redress." 

"What  redress  have  I  to  give?" 

"  The  man  is  encouraged  by  the  gossip  of  the  cook's 
tent;  it  has  come  to  his  ears  that  six  days  past  you 
dined  with  the  English  officers  at  El  Arish,  and  he 
has  grown  hopeful." 

The  wretched  Bedouin,  somewhat  bewildered  by 
this  foreign  gabble,  still  regarded  me  in  sanguine 
expectation.  I  observed  that  his  lip  hung  loosely, 

178 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO    KANTARA 

that  his  diseased  eyes  wavered;  and  I  conceived  that 
beneath  the  brown  rags  of  his  abba  his  heart  beat 
with  accustomed  timidity. 

"Tell  him,"  said  I,  "that  I  have  no  power." 

"It  is  useless,"  Aboosh  answered;  "having  ob- 
served the  English  flag  flying  over  your  tent,  the 
man  will  not  believe  it." 

"Tell  him,  nevertheless,  that  I  have  no  power," 
I  repeated,  "  but  that  I  will  listen  to  his  story  for  the 
entertainment  it  may  provide." 

Aboosh  complied  with  bad  grace. 

"I  am  a  tribesman  of  those  hills  which  the  kha- 
waja  may  descry  in  the  south,"  the  Bedouin  related, 
"and  I  have  travelled  these  many  days  hither  ward 
afoot,  my  young  son  accompanying  to  ease  the  pangs 
of  loneliness.  I  am  in  lamentable  case,  truly,  being 
a  friendless  man,  bound  now  to  El  Arish  to  obtain 
justice  of  the  English,  an  enemy  having  sorely  wrong- 
ed me.  We  are  two  tribes  of  pastoral  Arabs,"  he 
continued,  "dwelling  side  by  side,  pasturing  our 
flocks  and  tilling  the  soil,  and  have  continued  in  this 
proximity  in  peace  through  many  generations.  My 
little  field  lies  between  the  cultivated  ground  of  my 
people  and  the  land  of  the  neighboring  tribe.  That 
great  fertile  field  which  adjoins  is  possessed  by  a 
covetous  man,  with  whom  I  might  deal  sufficiently, 
supported  by  my  sheik,  were  he  not  the  nephew 
of  the  sheik  of  his  people.  Year  by  year  this 
man  has  encroached  upon  my  land,  now  tilling  a 
foot,  now  claiming  to  have  sown  where  I  cast  my 

179 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

seed,  until  there  is  nothing  left  to  me  but  an  un- 
yielding strip  of  stony  ground,  and  I  am  likely 
to  starve  with  my  son.  The  sheik  of  my  enemy 
will  not  redress  me  lest  he  offend  the  man,  who  is  a 
celebrated  warrior  in  our  parts  and  has  a  great  fol- 
lowing of  disaffected  persons  among  his  tribesmen; 
and  my  sheik  will  give  me  no  succor  lest  he  involve 
our  tribes  in  war,  which  have  not  warred  for  these 
generations.  Nevertheless,  the  land  is  mine,  and  my 
son's  after  me,  descended  to  me  through  the  line  of 
my  forefathers,  and  I  have  not  withdrawn  the  boun- 
daries from  the  original  marks,  but  have  in  every  way 
complied  with  the  land  laws  of  my  people.  I  am 
thus  an  unfortunate  man,  truly,  abandoned  by  my 
people  as  a  sacrifice  to  the  ancient  peace  of  our 
tribes;  and  it  seems  that  my  son  will  have  no  in- 
heritance after  me." 

"  It  is  an  unhappy  predicament,  truly,"  I  observed ; 
"  and  I  am  amazed  that  you  have  not  resorted  to  a 
private  settlement  of  this  affair." 

"To  what  end?"  he  asked,  with  a  shrug. 

"To  the  end,"  I  answered,  "of  preserving  this  in- 
heritance to  your  son." 

"  I  might  accomplish  the  death  of  my  enemy  from 
ambush,  truly,"  he  replied;  "but  to  what  advantage 
this  blood-feud  ?  for  the  man  is  a  man  of  great  family, 
and  my  son  would  presently  follow  me  to  the  grave. 
It  is  better  that  I  should  ask  the  English  at  El 
Arish  to  deal  justly  between  us;  and  to  this  end," 
he  added,  with  an  upward  glance  of  entreaty,  "I 

180 


ON    THE    ROAD    TO    KANTARA 

crave  the  boon  of  the  khawajcCs  distinguished 
friendship." 

"  I  grieve,"  said  I,  sadly,  "  that  I  cannot  help  you." 

"  Will  the  khawaja  not  obtain  that  justice  for  me  ? " 
the  Bedouin  begged. 

Aboosh  sighed.  I  fancied  that  the  simple  drago- 
man would  have  me  intrude. 

"Give  this  poor  man  backsheesh  in  reward  for  his 
story,"  said  I,  "and  tell  him  that  the  English  will 
deal  justly." 

"He  will  not  believe,"  Aboosh  replied,  "that  jus- 
tice is  to  be  had  without  influence." 

"The  lesson,  then,"  said  I,  riding  off,  "will  be  to 
his  advantage." 

"Will  the  khawaja  write  no  single  word?"  the 
Bedouin  called,  in  entreaty. 

We  rode  in  a  direction  from  El  Arish,  to  which 
city  the  Bedouin  was  bound.  I  wondered  that  he 
followed  us. 


XXXIV 

THE    FIVE    TROUBLES 

FROM  El  Arish  we  had  for  five  days  ridden 
through  a  sandy  desert,  sparsely  bushed  with 
a  mean  gray  growth;  but  here,  nearing  the  canal, 
was  no  vegetation  at  all — an  untouched  waste  of 
yellow  sand,  drifted  in  great  hills,  the  edged  ridges 
now  smoking  in  a  smart  breeze,  valleys  and  brief 
plains  set  in  unchanging  ripples.  At  noon  it  was 
cruelly  hot  riding:  the  breeze  had  fallen  away,  the 
desert  air  palpitated  under  the  sun,  the  yellow  world 
merged  its  outlines  and  was  become  a  glare  of  hot 
reflection,  featureless  to  our  protesting  eyes. 

We  had  by  this  time  overtaken  Mustafa's  camels, 
which  we  passed,  and  were  closely  trailed  by  Ali 
Mahmoud  and  his  mules,  with  which  the  big  master 
of  the  muleteers  had  followed  speedily,  according 
to  the  instruction  of  Aboosh.  The  cautious  drago- 
man had  said  that  though  in  the  wide  desert  men  and 
mules  might  with  inviolable  safety  stray  at  will,  the 
approach  to  town  must  be  accomplished  in  company, 
lest  some  loss  or  worse  catastrophe  befall  at  the  hands 
of  practised  robbers  who  might  immediately  escape 
to  the  confusion  of  a  city. 

182 


THE    FIVE    TROUBLES 

The  younger  khawaja,  however,  who  had  jogged 
these  days  on  the  back  of  an  army  camel,  a  thelM  of 
beauty,  was  not  riding  in  our  company ;  with  Taufik, 
the  dragoman's  peppery  brother,  and  Corporal  Ali, 
a  business-like  Soudanese  of  the  garrison  at  El  Arish, 
he  was  far  in  the  rear,  lost  to  view  behind  the  sand- 
hills loftily  intervening.  From  time  to  time  Aboosh 
turned  in  his  stirrups  to  peer  into  the  glare  behind; 
and  so  persistent  was  the  offence  against  the  quietude 
of  our  progress  that  I  questioned  his  anxiety  with 
much  rudeness :  upon  which  he  answered  mildly  that 
if  Taufik  were  to  be  accounted  a  reckless  youth, 
Corporal  Ali  was  a  fool  to  indulge  the  younger  kha- 
waja's  whim  to  linger  on  the  road. 

" It  is  true,"  I  taunted,  "of  what  you  accuse  your- 
self: you  are  not  of  the  lion-heart." 

He  laughed.  "You  are  a  rascal,  and  would  tease 
me!" 

"I  would  not  discover  you,"  I  answered,  "in  this 
foolish  solicitude." 

"It  is  rny  way  thus  to  be  anxious,"  said  he,  turn- 
ing to  look  again. 

For  a  time  we  rode  without  speaking — the  young 
dragoman  wretchedly  downcast,  it  seemed:  not  in- 
terested, now,  to  keep  his  spare  figure  in  the  saddle 
with  that  exquisite  grace  to  which  he  aspired,  nor 
to  poise  his  head  in  the  proud  fashion  he  cultivated, 
nor  to  glance  boldly  roundabout  upon  the  world,  nor 
to  preserve  the  saucy  angle  of  his  mustache,  nor  in 
13  183 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

any  other  way  to  display  those  vanities  in  which  he 
was  frank  to  find  delight. 

"Here  is  a  poor  dragoman,"  I  presently  com- 
plained, "thus  to  be  full  of  sighs  upon  a  journey!" 

"I  think  of  my  five  troubles,"  he  replied. 

"It  would  be  interesting,"  I  observed,  "to  hear 
them  recounted." 

He  spurred  his  horse  near  with  a  gentle  little  laugh. 
"First,"  said  he,  the  smile  yielding  place  to  an  ex- 
pression of  genuine  and  reverent  concern,  "is  my 
religion:  I  am  no  Mohammedan,  to  be  content  with 
the  forms,  but  a  Christian,  who  must  live  by  the 
spirit ;  and  I  must  constantly  trouble  myself  with  the 
question,  'Do  I  truly  live  in  the  fear  of  God?' 
Second,"  he  continued,  "is  my  flesh  and  blood:  that 
mother,  now  grown  old  in  Jerusalem,  who  fled  with 
me  over  the  desert  from  Mesopotamia,  where  my 
father  was  murdered;  those  sisters  and  their  five 
children  who  are  now  dependent  upon  me ;  that  Tau- 
fik,  my  brother,  going  to  America — of  all  these  I  must 
ask  myself,  '  Do  I  serve  them  as  my  father  would  ? ' 
Third,"  he  proceeded,  "is  my  present  duty:  am  I 
faithfully  serving  those  who  employ  me?  do  they 
travel  in  the  comfort  and  safety  which  I  promised 
them  according  to  my  contract?  And  I  am  now 
troubled,"  he  added,  looking  behind,  "because  the 
younger  khawaja  is  not  in  sight.  Fourth,"  he  re- 
sumed, after  a  moment,  "is  my  conduct:  I  must  not 
fail  to  trouble  myself  with  the  question,  '  Am  I  kind 
to  the  unfortunate  ? '  for  when  I  was  a  boy,  travelling 

184 


THE   FIVE   TROUBLES 

the  roads  about  Jerusalem  to  earn  bread  for  my 
family,  I  did  not  receive  kindness,  and  I  remember 
the  feeling.  Fifth,"  he  concluded,  looking  up  from 
the  hot  road  with  a  smile,  "is  my  future.  I  am  a 
young  man,  but  one  with  many  obligations,  and  I 
cannot  help  troubling  myself  with  the  question, 
'What  is  to  become  of  me?'  A  young  man  with 
obligations  cannot  honestly  take  new  responsibilities; 
and,  though  I  have  no  one  in  view  at  present,  I  can- 
not help  wondering — " 

And  the  excellent  young  fellow's  recital  ended  in 
a  burst  of  bashful  laughter. 


XXXV 

A    PRINCE   IN   MESOPOTAMIA 

WE  were  interrupted,  now,  by  the  appearance  of 
a  band  of  Bedouin  travellers,  streaming  un- 
expectedly over  a  near-by  rise.  They  came  swinging 
down  the  faintly  hoof -marked  track  toward  the 
valley  wherein  we  labored  deep  in  the  sand -drift; 
and  I  observed  that  those  mounted  among  them  rode 
their  camels  without  weariness,  and  that  those  afoot 
trod  jauntily,  all  of  them  advancing  with  much 
hilarity,  of  calling  to  one  another  and  of  a  chant-like 
singing.  They  would  hearten  themselves  for  the 
road  by  chanting  war-songs  (said  Aboosh);  and  I 
recall  that  the  approach  in  this  manner — the  long 
stride,  the  vigorous  carriage,  accompanied  by  the 
rhythmical  sound  of  voices — was  an  enlivening  spec- 
tacle. 

There  was  none  poor  among  them,  it  seemed ;  they 
were  clad  in  fabrics  of  price,  worn  with  an  air  in  keep- 
ing with  proud  countenances,  and  the  trappings  of 
the  beasts  were  new  and  abundant:  here,  indeed, 
was  neither  rag  of  poverty,  the  unkempt  appearance 
of  poor  men,  nor  the  lowered  eyes  of  the  meek. 
They  came  compactly  upon  us,  with  a  great  flashing 


A    PRINCE    IN    MESOPOTAMIA 

of  eyes  and  grinning,  throwing  loud  words  in  advance : 
two  old  men,  I  recall,  appearing  in  authority,  with  a 
dozen  stiff-necked  fellows  in  a  bearded  prime,  and 
some  mischievous-mouthed  boys. 

It  was  a  noisy  passing;  but  Aboosh  gave  them  no 
salutation  in  return,  nor  courteously  yielded  some- 
what of  the  road,  nor  acknowledged  them  at  all,  but 
straightened  in  his  saddle,  riding  now  at  the  head  of 
our  caravan  with  that  large  assumption  of  dignity 
he  could  command,  until  they  were  well  past  and 
the  answering  badinage  of  our  muleteers  had  ceased, 
whereupon  he  relaxed  into  listlessness,  and  the 
amusement  was  over. 

"A  saucy  crew!"  said  I. 

"Truly,"  he  answered;  " yet  it  is  wise  to  go  peace- 
ably in  a  strange  country." 

Wearing  the  gray  hairs  of  cautious  age,  I  did 
agree;  and  I  turned  then  to  look  back,  but  could 
catch  no  sign  of  the  younger  khawaja  on  the  road. 

It  was  ever  hotter  riding;  we  went  between  two 
flaming  round  wastes — sun  overhead  and  sand  under- 
foot :  the  desert  had  absorbed  what  heat  it  could  con- 
tain, and  now  reflected  the  white  rays  with  hardly 
diminished  severity.  There  was  no  heart  in  our 
company  for  the  accustomed  diversions  of  the  road : 
Mustafa  had  no  tale  to  recite,  Rachid  no  love-song 
of  his  composition  with  which  to  distract  us  from 
the  weariness  of  this  riding.  I  observed  that 
Whishie,  a  masterless  dog  which  had  followed  our 

187 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

camp  from  Jerusalem,  practised  a  cunning  expedient, 
which,  being  a  beast  of  "the  wall,"  she  had  now  first 
discovered.  She  would  hasten  in  advance,  paw  a  hole 
in  a  sandy  slope,  and  snuggle  in  this  small  shade  of 
her  creation  until  we  were  well  beyond,  whereupon 
she  would  come  running  after  us,  either  to  repeat  the 
performance  or  trot,  tongue  hanging,  in  the  shadow 
of  my  horse,  which  was  directly  under  his  belly. 
There  was  no  other  incident  to  enliven  the  way;  we 
were  indeed  most  unhappily  hot  and  restless  and 
bored — save  the  camels  of  Mustafa,  which  con- 
tinued the  slow,  invariable  pace,  indifferent. 

In  this  emergency  of  tedium  I  demanded  of  Aboosh 
the  story  of  the  murder  of  his  father  in  Mesopotamia. 

"It  is  a  wild  tale,"  he  replied. 

"So  much  the  better,"  said  I.  "The  Bedouins 
have  a  proverb:  A  good  story  is  the  half  of  a  day's 
journey." 

"  I  am  the  second  son,"  he  related,  as  I  may  para- 
phrase the  tale,  "of  the  Man  With  the  Cat.  My 
father  was  the  sheik  of  thirteen  villages  in  Mesopota- 
mia, with  power  to  levy  taxes  and  to  gather  them  by 
force,  and  was  in  consequence  a  rich  and  powerful 
man,  hated  by  his  enemies  and  well  served  by  those 
self-interested  friends  who  thrived  upon  his  bounty. 
I  was  a  child  when  my  mother  fled  with  me  into  Pales- 
tine, and  of  the  land  remember  only  a  swiftly  flowing 
river,  and  of  our  state  recall  little  more  than  a  gray 
body-servant  and  a  white  horse ;  but  my  mother  has 
told  me  many  stories  of  our  wealth — of  flocks  and 

1 88 


A    PRINCE    IN    MESOPOTAMIA 

horses,  of  stores  of  corn,  of  the  armed  servants  with 
whom  my  father  rode,  of  jewels  and  carpets  in  a 
great  house,  of  coffers  in  the  cellar,  from  which  gold 
and  silver  were  not  counted,  but  weighed.  My 
father  was  a  savage  man,  able  to  defend  his  life 
against  attack  in  force,  which,  indeed,  he  must  often 
do,  but  lived  in  dread  of  poisoning.  For  this  reason 
he  would  never  venture  abroad  without  a  cat;  and 
into  strange  houses,  where  he  must  eat,  he  would 
carry  her  to  taste  the  food,  as  an  extraordinary  pre- 
caution :  so  that  to  many  people  in  Mesopotamia  he 
was  known  (and  is  to  this  day  remembered)  as  the 
Man  With  the  Cat.  In  this  way  he  balked  his 
enemies,  until  a  cunning  plan  was  devised  to  outwit 
him.  Invited  to  feast  at  the  house  of  a  friend,  he 
laid  off  his  shoes  at  the  door,  as  the  custom  is,  and 
while  the  entertainment  was  in  progress  some  enemy 
poisoned  his  shoes  in  a  curious  manner:  this  being 
with  fine  fragments  of  glass  upon  which  some  deadly 
fluid  had  been  allowed  to  dry.  When  my  father  re- 
turned from  the  feast,  his  feet  were  scratched  and 
swollen;  and  he  was  presently  dead  of  the  lock- 
jaw, leaving  my  elder  brother,  the  father  of  this 
Taufik,  to  assume  his  station  and  the  wealth  of  his 
office." 

"The  father  of  this  Taufik  who  rides  behind  with 
the  younger  khawaja  and  Corporal  AH?"  I  echoed. 

"  Yes,"  Aboosh  answered;  "it  is  true  that  Taufik 
passes  as  my  brother,  and  was  nursed  at  my  mother's 
breast,  his  mother  having  died ;  but  he  is  in  reality 

189 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

my  nephew,  the  son  of  my  elder  brother,  who  was 
slain  by  my  father's  enemies  before  the  young  man's 
birth." 

"  This  Taufik,"  I  asked  "  is  then  by  right  the  sheik 
of  thirteen  villages  in  Mesopotamia?" 

"  It  is  true,"  Aboosh  answered ;  "but  what  matter  ? 
for  Jerusalem,  to  which  my  mother  fled  with  us  after 
the  death  of  my  father  and  brother,  is  a  long  way 
from  Mesopotamia." 

"  I  have  a  vision  of  adventure  for  the  young  man," 
said  I. 

Aboosh  was  puzzled. 

"From  America  to  return  to  Mesopotamia/'  I 
cried,  enthusiastically,  ''and  possess  himself  of  that 
which  was  taken  from  his  father." 

"Why  should  he  do  this  thing?" 

"To  be  the  sheik  of  thirteen  villages." 

Aboosh  laughed  heartily.  "  It  is  not  worth  while," 
said  he,  "to  be  the  sheik  of  thirteen  villages  in  Mes- 
opotamia." 

"Not  worth  while  to  live  thus  in  princely  state!" 
I  exclaimed,  aghast. 

"It  is  in  Mesopotamia,"  he  retorted. 

Nevertheless,  the  adventure  upon  which  this  young 
and  stout-hearted  Taufik  might  honorably  embark 
seems  to  be  an  undertaking  of  proportions  and  rare 
flavor.  The  distance  of  the  scene,  the  isolation  of 
the  struggle,  the  spears  and  flint-locks,  are  appeal- 
ing aspects.  My  view,  however,  may  be  an  error  of 
the  romantic  imagination;  perhaps,  after  all,  it  is 

190 


A    PRINCE    IN    MESOPOTAMIA 

not  an  interesting  thing  to  shed  blood  and  dwell  in 
jeopardy. 

We  rounded  a  great  sand-hill,  peaked  and  cliffed 
like  a  veritable  mountain,  and  rode  out  upon  a  plain, 
gratefully  hard  underfoot.  The  horizon  was  a  line 
of  palm-trees,  the  continuity  of  green  broken  at 
intervals;  there  was  no  glimpse  of  water— no  indica- 
tion of  change  in  the  desert  we  travelled.  Presently, 
however,  against  the  background  of  sky  and  farther 
sand,  the  smoke-stacks  of  a  steamship  appeared, 
traversing  the  barren  in  a  way  to  amaze  the  traveller 
from  those  remote  places  whence  were  we.  Here, 
then,  was  the  canal,  it  seemed ;  the  paces  of  our  un- 
troubled journey  were  numbered.  There  was  in- 
stantly the  ending,  indeed ;  a  glimpse  of  smoke-stacks, 
and  we  were  no  longer  nearing  the  familiar  perturba- 
tions, but  had  returned  to  them.  I  wondered  what 
time  the  train  left  Kantara  for  Cairo ;  and  was  there 
a  time-table?  and  would  there  be  a  dining-car?  or 
must  the  cook  put  up  a  bite  to  eat? 

We  mended  the  pace;  the  camels  were  urged  to  a 
lumbering  trot,  the  mules  hastened  under  the  lusty 
calling  of  AH  Mahmoud,  the  dog  ran  barking  in  ad- 
vance, the  worn  Rachid  broke  into  the  last  dog-trot 
of  his  long  travelling.  A  rusty  tin  can,  obtruding 
from  a  little  drift  of  sand,  conveyed  its  suggestion; 
there  was  then  the  rag  of  a  newspaper — presently 
the  scattered  refuse  of  a  town,  blown  far  out  by  the 
winds.  Low  houses  emerged  in  shiftless  detail  from 

191 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

the  bank  of  palms;  separating  from  these  a  half- 
boarded  structure  took  form,  and  I  distinguished  the 
sound  of  a  hammer.  Other  smoke-stacks  appeared ; 
there  was  the  fussy  puffing  of  a  tug-boat,  the  blast  of 
a  steam  whistle.  The  sand  was  unclean,  the  air 
polluted ;  here  were  all  the  aggravations  come  again. 

We  skirted  the  out-buildings  of  a  wretched  village 
— an  out-at-the-elbows  settlement,  weak  in  the  knees, 
indolent,  sore-eyed,  and  unwashed — and  threaded  a 
way  among  the  hills  of  accumulated  dredgings  from 
the  canal.  At  last,  disheartened,  we  came  to  the 
bank  of  a  green,  swift-flowing  stream  (the  tide  then 
changing),  bustling  with  the  traffic  of  the  world. 
Near  by  was  this  little  town;  between  was  a  hand- 
propelled  ferry,  conveying  camels  toward  Cairo; 
across  was  a  trim  railroad  station,  a  grass-plot,  a 
garden,  and  a  switch-engine.  The  passengers  of  a 
slow-passing  P.  and  O.  liner  came  to  the  rail  to  stare. 

We  dismounted  for  the  last  time.  Rachid,  accord- 
ing to  the  custom  he  had  established,  took  the  bridle 
of  my  horse. 

"It  is  finished!"  said  I,  in  the  Bedouin  way. 

" Khawaja,  truly,"  he  replied,  "it  is  a  melancholy 
thing  to  leave  these  sands." 

Our  caravan  was  to  return  to  Jerusalem  by  the 
desert  route,  leaving  us  to  take  train  for  Cairo  in  the 
morning. 


XXXVI 

A   BEDOUIN   IN   CUSTODY 

I  WENT  to  an  eminence  of  dredgings  to  search 
the  plain  for  the  younger  khawaja.  He  had  come 
into  view  at  last,  but  was  riding  alone,  and  that  in 
a  curious  fashion,  vacillating  between  haste  and 
leisure.  He  would  now  tap  the  neck  of  his  camel 
until  the  beast  trotted,  but  having  achieved  this, 
would  almost  instantly  persuade  it  back  to  agitated 
walk.  I  must  therefore  conclude  that  he  would  make 
haste  if  he  could,  but  was  unable  to  continue  with  the 
breath  beaten  out  of  his  body  by  the  jolting  gait  of 
his  beast.  Presently  I  observed  Corporal  AH  and 
Taufik  emerge  from  the  cover  of  a  sand-hill;  they 
were  at  a  footpace,  with  a  gesticulating  Bedouin  walk- 
ing between  the  horses.  To  this  mystery  was  added 
the  appearance  of  a  second  Bedouin,  who  came 
running  beyond,  not  with  untouched  strength,  but 
falteringly,  in  the  way  of  a  man  who  had  run  far 
and  eagerly.  Having  overtaken  the  horsemen,  the 
runner  took  the  place  of  the  first  Bedouin,  who  then 
trailed  disconsolately  behind,  his  excitement  all  at 
once  departed;  and  in  this  manner  the  group  ap- 
proached over  the  plain. 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

"The  man  in  the  custody  of  Corporal  Ali,"  the 
younger  khawaja  explained,  having  arrived,  "  is  our 
prisoner." 

"And  the  old  man  following?" 

"  He  was  seized  to  insure  the  appearance  of  the 
other." 

"It  is  doubtless  an  interesting  adventure  to  have 
taken  a  prisoner,"  I  observed;  "but,  in  the  name 
of  Heaven!  what  are  we  to  do  with  a  captured 
Bedouin?" 

"Why,"  cried  the  younger  khawaja — as  though 
the  thing  were  a  privilege — "we  shall  make  an  ex- 
ample of  him,  of  course!" 

It  seems  that  these  three  loiterers  of  our  company, 
riding  alone  in  the  desert  behind,  had  fallen  in  with 
the  sixteen  saucy  Bedouins  whom  we  had  earlier  en- 
countered. Taufik  was  neither  of  the  nature  nor 
that  mellowed  age  to  accept  an  insult  with  no  more 
than  a  contemptuous  lift  of  the  head.  At  any  rate, 
small  blame  to  him;  these  jaunty  rascals  had  chal- 
lenged the  issue.  When  the  younger  khawaja  was 
cursed  for  a  Christian  lout  (and  worse),  the  young 
dragoman  slipped  from  his  horse  and  felled  the  of- 
fender of  his  master.  It  was  instantly  an  affray— 
and  of  the  liveliest  intention.  The  Bedouins  cried, 
"Kill  them!  Kill  them!"  and  fell  upon  the  unarmed 
Taufik  with  this  swift  purpose. 

They  meant — in  the  passion  of  the  moment — to 
deliver  his  death;  here  was  no  mere  wayside  brawl, 
but  a  murderous  onslaught.  Staves  were  employed 

194 


A    BEDOUIN    IN    CUSTODY 

against  him;  the  long,  curved  Arab  knives  were 
drawn,  but  driven  with  poor  aim  in  the  confusion, 
so  that  no  mortal  blow  was  dealt.  Corporal  Ali  was 
now  engaged ;  but  the  unfortunate  younger  khawaja, 
perched  high  on  the  hump  of  his  frantic  camel,  was 
unable  to  fetch  the  beast  to  his  knees,  and  must  for 
the  moment  contain  his  lust  to  strike.  When  at 
last  he  abandoned  the  saddle  at  a  great  leap,  the 
Bedouins  were  in  flight,  bruised  by  the  fists  of  Taufik 
and  Ali  into  a  reviving  consciousness  of  their  in- 
discretion. 

Taufik  was  a  thing  of  shreds  and  bruises,  beaten 
about  the  head,  and  bleeding  from  small  wounds  of 
knives;  but  Corporal  Ali  was  scathless,  breathing 
easily  and  not  unduly  disordered.  He  now  stood 
composed,  with  his  long  black  fingers  closed  about 
the  beard  of  an  old  man,  who  pleaded  piteously  to 
be  released.  Near  by  was  a  grave  patriarch,  of 
sheikly  authority  over  his  departed  tribesmen,  to 
whom  Corporal  Ali,  in  a  musical  address,  drawled 
that  the  old  gentleman  whose  beard  he  retained 
would  be  held  as  a  hostage  for  the  delivery  of  that 
offender  whom  Taufik  had  first  accosted. 

"  Now,"  the  younger  khawaja  concluded,  "by  good 
fortune  we  have  the  man  to  deal  with." 

I  lamented  the  laborious  necessity. 

"What!"  cried  the  younger  khawaja,  "would  you 
have  this  fellow  go  free?  Why,"  he  exclaimed,  out- 
raged, adopting  the  English  attitude,  "he  attacked 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

The  thing  must  be  done,  then,  for  the  unpardon- 
able offence  of  lifting  a  hand  against  the  Anglo-Saxon, 
or  the  servant  of  the  Anglo-Saxon,  in  an  Eastern  land 
occupied  by  the  English ;  there  was  no  evading  a  duty 
of  this  grave  public  nature,  lest  the  journey  of  some 
other  traveller  be  more  seriously  interrupted,  they 
all  wisely  said. 


XXXVII 

DOGS   OF   THE   ENGLISH 

tents  were  now  raised,  the  rugs  spread,  the 
khawaja' s  easy-chair  set  in  the  shade;  and  here 
on  the  bank  of  the  cool-flowing  canal  the  khawaja 
elegantly  rested,  the  admired  of  Egyptians,  his  at- 
tention occupied  with  an  occasional  whiff  from  the 
cook's  pots,  with  the  manifold  beauties  of  the  Blue 
Rug,  with  the  grace  of  the  palm-tree  opposite,  and 
with  a  fragrant  cup  of  coffee,  the  product  of  the  art 
of  Rachid,  formerly  employed  by  David's  Gate.  He 
reverted  presently  to  the  veritable  catastrophe  of  un- 
palatable duty  confronting  him — justice  upon  the 
head  of  that  erring  Bedouin — but  was  interrupted  by 
a  diffident  clearing  of  the  throat  in  his  proximity. 
It  was  the  wronged  Bedouin  of  Googaa,  his  son  in  his 
shadow — not  the  captured  offender,  but  that  ragged 
man  who  in  the  early  morning  had  sought  to  enlist 
the  khawaja's  sympathy,  but  had  been  denied.  He 
had  followed  all  these  sandy  miles  from  the  last  well 
to  renew  his  petition  for  the  khawaja's  influence  in 
the  proceeding  he  was  about  to  take  against  the 
enemy  who  had  encroached  upon  his  land. 

"  Come! "  thought  the  khawaja;  "  this  ragged  fellow 
197 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

is  of  a  mind  too  simple  and  timid  to  conceive  a  plot, 
and,  moreover,  having  at  some  cost  preserved  an  ac- 
quaintance through  one  whole  day,  he  is  become  like 
an  old  friend.  Why  shall  a  man  not  introduce  one 
gentleman  to  another  ?  I  will  curry  additional  favor 
with  the  captain  at  El  Arish  by  presenting  him  with 
the  furred  dust-glasses  he  coveted.  Of  this  gift  the 
petitioning  Bedouin  shall  be  the  bearer;  and  if  it 
please  the  captain  to  listen  to  the  Bedouin's  com- 
plaint (I  will  write),  it  will  doubtless  please  the  Bed- 
ouin, too,  and  would  unquestionably  delight  the 
vanishing  khawaja  could  the  tale  of  this  indulgence 
but  come  to  his  ears." 

The  Bedouin  was  politely  grateful,  assuming  a 
letter  favorable  to  his  suit ;  and  the  sleepy  attention 
of  the  khawaja  was  permitted  again  to  engage  with 
the  palms  and  green  water  and  the  coffee  of  Rachid. 
I  do  not  know  the  end  of  the  story  of  the  poor  Bed- 
ouin who  was  sacrificed  by  his  sheik  to  preserve 
the  tribe  in  its  ancient  peace.  It  was  an  incident  by 
chance  of  the  caravan  route,  where  men  pass,  going 
east  and  west,  and  the  tales  they  live  issue  in  con- 
clusions beyond  the  ken  of  vanished  travellers. 

There  presently  arrived  from  the  dust  and  odors 
and  shiftless  litter  of  Kantara  an  animated  group. 
Here  was  the  admirable  Aboosh,  in  a  saucy  rage, 
browbeating  a  greasy,  pop-eyed,  corpulent  Egyptian 
in  a  womanish  red  skirt,  who  radiated  the  pomposity 
of  a  native  magistrate,  which,  indeed,  he  confessed 

198 


DOGS    OF    THE    ENGLISH 

to  being;  and  here  was  the  beseeching  offender,  pat- 
tering repentance  with  the  fervor  and  regularity  of  a 
Gatling  gun,  his  aged  tribesman  in  melancholy  echo 
of  the  forlorn  assault  upon  our  sympathies. 

No  sooner  had  the  Bedouin  caught  sight  of  the 
younger  khawaja  than  he  dropped  prostrate,  grovelled 
close,  kissed  the  astounded  young  man's  shoes, 
clambered  up  his  leggings,  and  embraced  his  knees; 
and  in  this  attitude  of  humiliation  he  continued  a 
not  unmusical  agony  of  pleading  until  the  younger 
khawaja  disengaged  himself  and  fled  blushing  to  his 
tent.  Thus  abandoned,  the  Bedouin  fell  at  the  feet 
even  of  this  Armenian  Taufik  (but  with  a  wry  face), 
who  dodged  behind  Rachid,  leaving  the  elder  kha- 
waja exposed  to  the  culprit's  attentions. 

I  could  not  release  my  shoes,  though  what  with 
these  caresses  I  toppled  perilously;  and  I  was  as 
loath  to  strike  as  cruelly  kick  out.  It  was  Corporal 
AH  who  sticked  the  man  to  his  distance,  and  then 
kept  him  in  watchful  custody,  in  the  way  of  a  police- 
man who  is  used  to  the  calculating  repentance  of 
sinners.  In  the  mean  time  the  engagement  between 
Aboosh  and  the  corpulent  magistrate  had  gone  cres- 
cendo to  a  deafening  pitch ;  whatever  the  argument, 
it  had  elicited  a  noisy  eloquence,  in  the  exercise  of 
which  the  magistrate  had  near  lost  his  breath  and 
the  dragoman  had  altogether  lost  his  temper. 

Two  benignant  travellers,  having  hitherto  wandered 
unmolested  and  unmolestingly,  we  were  caught  at  last, 
it  seemed,  in  a  very  tempest  of  belligerent  agitation. 
14  199 


GOING    DOWN    FROM    JERUSALEM 

"This  greasy  rascal  of  a  magistrate,"  Aboosh  in- 
formed me,  "will  do  nothing;  and  we  are  therefore 
demeaned  by  him." 

"What!"  cried  I,  in  wrath. 

"They  are  all  Mohammedans  together/'  he  ex- 
plained. 

I  had  before  been  of  the  heart  of  compassion ;  but 
I  perceived,  now,  with  rising  indignation — such  is 
religious  partisanship — that  the  crime  of  this  blood- 
thirsty and  villanous  Arab  was  of  a  nature  to  be 
severely  dealt  with  under  the  law. 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  the  man's  guilt?"  I 
demanded. 

"The  Mohammedan  feast  is  near,  and  the  Bedouin 
is  in  haste  to  celebrate  it  with  his  tribe,"  Aboosh 
answered;  "the  magistrate  will  not  imprison  him  for 
as  much  as  three  days,  lest  he  be  detained  beyond 
the  time." 

"I  will  speak  with  him,"  said  I,  truculently. 

It  chanced,  however,  that  I  had  no  need  to  per- 
suade the  Egyptian;  the  persuasion  was  inadvert- 
ently accomplished  by  AH  Mahmoud,  the  big  mule- 
teer, and  that  in  a  most  curious  and  informing  man- 
ner. Ali  Mahmoud,  having  now  arranged  the  camp 
to  his  satisfaction,  ran  up  the  British  flag,  according 
to  his  custom,  and  lumbered  off  to  sit  with  the  cook, 
an  eye  on  the  pot,  and  a  broad  red  nose  expanded  to 
the  steam  of  the  cooking. 

The  effect  upon  the  magistrate  was  bewildering; 
in  a  flash  he  had  transformed  himself. 

200 


DOGS    OF    THE    ENGLISH 

"What  has  come  over  this  fellow?"  I  asked  the 
dragoman. 

"  He  says,"  Aboosh  interrupted,  with  a  triumphant 
little  laugh,  "that  at  Kantara  they  are  the  dogs  of 
the  English.  'We  are  the  dogs  of  the  English/  he 
says :  '  what  shall  we  do  sufficiently  to  punish  the 
rascally  Bedouin  who  has  assaulted  your  excellency's 
servants  and  secretary  ? ' ' 

"  Tell  him  that  he  must  himself  impose  the  punish- 
ment," I  replied;  "but  in  the  name  of  Heaven!  first 
explain  his  acquiescence." 

"AH  Mahmoud  raised  the  flag." 

"  Did  the  man  not  know  that  we  were  British  sub- 
jects? Surely  we  speak  the  language!" 

"It  is  true  that  you  speak  English,"  Aboosh  an- 
swered, significantly;  "but  you  go  clean-shaven,  like 
the  Americans." 

Forthwith  the  dogs  of  the  English  harried  the 
Bedouin  off  to  jail. 


XXXVIII 

HELD   UP 

THERE  was  an  interval  of  repose ;  and  while  we  sat 
at  ease  in  the  shade  of  the  tent,  undisturbed  by 
the  curious  of  Kantara,  who  were  kept  off  by  a  patrol 
in  the  person  of  Rachid,  Aboosh  gravely  reflected, 
apparently  occupied  with  a  problem  of  no  small  im- 
portance. It  seemed  he  could  not  determine  whether 
to  bathe  and  array  himself  for  the  glittering  prome- 
nades of  Cairo  at  that  moment  or  await  another  time 
of  leisure;  but  eventually  concluding  to  have  the 
solemn  business  over  with,  he  departed,  grave  as 
befitted  the  approaching  ceremony.  I  heard  a  great 
splashing,  calls  for  the  assistance  of  Rachid,  admir- 
ing exclamations,  an  altercation,  and  a  gentle  debate; 
then  roundabout  passed  Elias,  the  cook's  boy,  cry- 
ing, "Khawaja  Aboosh!  Khawaja  Aboosh!"  And 
the  admirable  dragoman  responded,  clad  resplen- 
dently  below  a  suspicious  slender  waist,  but  not 
ready  for  inspection  above,  one  strand  of  his  mus- 
tache in  a  curl-paper  and  the  other  hanging  damp 
and  limp. 

There  was  a  glint  of  official  braid  about  the  visitor 

202 


HELD    UP 

whom  he  received;  and  I  observed  that  Elias  set 
stools  and  a  table  near  by,  and  fetched  coffee,  and 
that  Aboosh  and  the  stranger  got  their  heads  to- 
gether and  laughed  a  great  deal,  and  in  all  seemed 
to  have  an  excellent  time.  But  I  was  presently 
enlightened.  Aboosh  came  to  me  woebegone,  his 
brows  drawn  with  trouble,  his  hand  pulling  in  an 
agitated  way  at  the  unoccupied  strand  of  his  mus- 
tache. "  You  know,"  said  he,  "  that  one  of  our  horses 
is  worn  and  has  for  three  days  carried  no  burden? 
Well,"  he  continued,  "this  man  is  a  quarantine 
officer,  and  the  thing  has  been  reported  to  him.  The 
horse  is  in  good  health,  as  I  know,  having  observed 
him  carefully;  but  this  man  says  that  he  has  a  run- 
ning at  the  nose  and  will  communicate  a  plague  to  all 
the  horses  and  camels  of  Egypt  if  he  is  permitted  to 
return  over  the  desert  to  Jerusalem  to-morrow,  as  I 
had  planned!" 

"His  greed  is  the  doctor,"  said  I. 

"Truly,"  cried  Aboosh,  distressed  to  the  point  of 
tears;  "but  he  has  me  at  his  mercy.  I  must  either 
waste  the  profits  of  this  long  journey  in  maintaining 
my  animals  and  men  in  a  quarantine  of  three  weeks 
at  Kantara  or  hand  the  last  piastre  of  them  to  this 
greedy  official." 

"I  would  not  pay  one  penny!"  said  I. 

"That  is  not  the  way,"  he  replied;  "the  man  is 
entitled  to  some  small  bribe  from  every  traveller 
who  can  afford  to  pay.  I  do  not  wish  to  be  ungener- 
ous; but  he  seems  like  a  hard  man,  and  I  think  he 

203 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

will  demand  more  than  his  right  when  he  comes  again, 
even  every  piastre  of  my  profits." 

"Has  he  named  no  sum?"  I  asked. 

"  No,"  the  dragoman  sighed ;  "  he  has  not  yet  form- 
ed an  estimate  of  the  amount  of  my  profits." 

"What  shall  you  do  to  protect  your  pocket?" 
said  I. 

"  I  will  be  clever  in  conversation,"  was  the  answer. 

Here,  indeed,  was  a  pity.  Aboosh  had  labored 
diligently  in  our  service,  and  was  a  man  of  many 
obligations,  generously  assumed. 

It  occurred  to  me  late  in  the  afternoon  that  the 
captured  Bedouin  might  even  then  be  on  trial;  and 
I  dispatched  Aboosh  in  haste  to  the  village  (two  curl- 
papers now  engaging  his  mustache)  to  make  sure 
that  he  was  not  punished  with  undue  severity  by 
these  solicitous  dogs  of  the  English.  The  obse- 
quious magistrate  had  relieved  me  of  attendance, 
and  my  servants ;  nor,  said  he,  wrould  he  put  me  to 
the  fatigue  and  disturbance  of  providing  witnesses, 
but  would  himself  close  the  incident  with  neatness 
and  dispatch.  It  was  a  happy  thing,  therefore,  that 
Aboosh  was  present  with  a  gift  of  mercy;  for  when 
the  dragoman  arrived  the  zealous  judge  was  on 
the  very  point  of  condemning  the  forsaken  unfort- 
unate to  a  year's  servitude  in  the  prison  at  Port 
Said. 

"You  remember  Mirza,  the  sheik  of  the  Tribe  of 
Them  That  Had  Heard?"  the  dragoman  asked  me, 

204 


HELD    UP 

having  returned  to  the  lengthened  shadow  of  my 
tent.  "You  remember  that  with  the  elders  of  his 
tribe  he  drank  coffee  with  you  in  your  encampment  at 
the  Well  of  Mazaar.  You  remember  that  you  rode 
through  the  salt-swamp  and  ate  dates  and  drank 
coffee  with  him  and  his  elders  in  his  tent?  You  re- 
member that  you  were  served  with  one  cup — with 
two  cups — with  the  third  cup?  You  have  not  for- 
gotten the  meaning  of  the  third  cup — that  it  signifies 
not  only  the  friendship  of  the  sheik,  for  mutual  de- 
fence and  offence,  but  the  loyal  devotion  of  his  tribe  ? 
You  remember  that,  departing,  you  indulged  Sheik 
Mirza  with  a  gift,  and  that  he  received  it,  vowing  his 
devotion  and  the  loyalty  of  his  tribesmen  to  endure 
forever?  Well,"  the  dragoman  concluded,  with  a 
knowing  little  wink  and  grin,  "these  offending  Bed- 
ouins, of  whom  this  man  was  the  chief,  are  of  the 
Tribe  of  Them  That  Had  Heard,  returning  from 
Cairo." 

"What  punishment  was  inflicted?"  I  asked. 

"When  I  informed  the  man  of  these  exchanges  of 
hospitality,"  Aboosh  replied,  "he  hung  his  head  and 
wept,  crying  out  that  he  had  shamed  his  tribe;  and 
in  pity  I  persuaded  the  magistrate  to  reduce  the 
sentence  to  one  week  in  the  jail  at  Kantara." 

The  poor  Bedouin  had  engaged  my  sympathies. 

Night  came,  after  a  flaring  sunset — of  those  great 
clouds,  flung  mightily  forth  and  wide-lying  in  the 
west,  terrible  with  heaviness  and  silence  and  lurid 

205 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

colors.  It  was  presently  dark;  and  here,  again,  all 
roundabout,  was  the  same  dear  mystery  of  stars. 
Rachid  called  us  to  .the  fire,  which  crackled  its  own 
invitation  to  the  warmth  and  shifting  red  light  in  a 
voice  of  persuasive  cheerfulness;  and  we  sat  down  in 
the  sand,  as  we  had  these  many  nights,  in  the  com- 
pany of  all  those  who  travelled  with  us  and  of  what- 
soever wanderers  would  be  entertained  at  our  table. 
Rachid  crooned  a  love-song,  to  which  we  listened, 
stirred  but  uncomprehending,  and  thereafter  recited 
with  relish  a  composition  which  set  forth  the  heroism 
of  the  younger  khawaja.  in  the  bloody  engagement  of 
that  day  (who  had  been  no  hero  at  all) ;  and  Mustafa, 
that  entertaining  camel-driver,  related  his  last  in- 
forming story;  and  Corporal  Ali,  the  Soudanese,  now 
first  disclosed  his  princely  descent,  as  to  a  circle  of 
eternal  friends,  adding  a  diverting  explanation  of  his 
situation  of  servitude  with  the  English;  and  the 
younger  khawaja  indulgently  performed  tricks  of 
magic,  to  the  delight  of  little  Ahmed,  the  camel-boy; 
and  big  Ali  Mahmoud  told  laughable  tales  which 
Aboosh  would  not  repeat,  though  they  convulsed  the 
whole  company.  These  delights  of  evening  recurred 
as  when  we  travelled  the  remoter  sands  and  there 
was  no  lapping  water,  no  red  and  green  lights  drift- 
ing by,  no  morning  prospect  of  farewell  and  haste  and 
noise,  no  neighborhood  of  dwellings,  but  only  the 
vacant  desert,  lying  infinitely  roundabout  under  the 
stars. 

Aboosh  was  withdrawn  from  our  company  by  the 
206 


WE      SAT      DOWN       IN      THE       SAND      AROUND      THE      FIRE 


HELD    UP 

advent  of  the  quarantine  officer;  presently  he  re- 
joined us  unmoved. 

"Well?"  I  inquired. 

"I  have  made  a  mistake,"  he  whispered,  humbly. 
"The  man  is  a  gentleman — two  napoleons  were  suf- 
ficient to  appease  him." 


XXXIX 

RACHID    GOES   HOME 

WE  were  early  astir  in  the  morning — abroad  in 
the  cold  air  long  before  dawn — to  oblige  the 
gentlemanly  quarantine  officer,  who  had  provided, 
when  the  dragoman's  gold  touched  his  palm,  that  the 
beasts  which  he  had  mistakenly  suspected  of  afflic- 
tion must  nevertheless  be  outward  bound  toward  the 
eastern  desert  before  the  break  of  day.  When  the 
caravan  was  ready  to  depart  on  the  return  journey 
to  Jerusalem,  Aboosh  took  Ali  Mahmoud  aside,  to 
ease  his  own  heart  of  an  oppression  which  had  long 
troubled  him:  it  being  a  perilous  thing,  said  he,  for 
Christians  to  be  outnumbered  by  Mohammedans  on 
the  desert  road,  or  Mohammedans  to  be  outnumbered 
by  Christians. 

"You  are  all  Mohammedans  but  the  cook  and 
Elias,"  he  entreated  the  big  muleteer,  uand  I  charge 
you  to  see  that  no  harm  befalls  them — neither  hunger 
nor  thirst  nor  ill  treatment,"  and  Ali  Mahmoud  made 
the  threefold  Mohammedan  oath  to  protect  the  shiv- 
ering Christians  in  the  event  of  catastrophe. 

They  went  one  by  one — a  gloomy,  staggering  cara- 

208 


RACHID    GOES    HOME 

van— over  the  hills  to  the  shadows  of  the  plain,  and 
were  there  enfolded  from  our  view;  but  Elias,  the 
cook's  boy,  lingered  to  strap  the  third  saddle-bag 
upon  the  gray  stallion  I  had  ridden,  though  I  had 
warned  him  that  the  beast  would  carry  no  burden 
save  his  rider.  He  was  a  youth  over-confident,  and 
presently  in  hard  case,  for  he  was  instantly  thrown; 
but  he  mounted  again,  with  a  laugh,  and  was  once 
more  toppled  over  the  horse's  head.  Aboosh  called 
to  Ali  Mahmoud,  who  came  back  in  a  rage  with  the 
folly  of  Elias;  and  the  two  went  away  together,  in 
melancholy  fashion.  The  last  glimpse  we  had  of  our 
engaging  followers  revealed  a  boy  from  Jerusalem 
afoot  and  crying  heartily. 

We  said  good-bye  to  Corporal  Ali  last  of  all — this 
when  the  sun  was  high,  the  village  life  astir. 

"Corporal  Ali,"  I  said,  impressively,  "I  have  a 
grave  commission,  which  you  will  perform  upon  our 
departure." 

The  Soudanese  came  to  rigid  attention. 

"Do  you,  then,"  I  enjoined,  "go  instantly  to  the 
magistrate  and  command  the  release  of  that  Bed- 
ouin." 

"The  khawaja,"  he  replied,  smiling,  "has  learned 
mercy." 

It  is  a  lesson  not  difficult  to  learn. 

Rachid  went  with  us.  To  him,  on  the  night  before, 
had  come  two  gold  pieces,  with  which  he  must  found 
the  fortune  he  would  raise  in  Cairo ;  and  he  was  truly 

209 


GOING    DOWN    FROM   JERUSALEM 

overjoyed,  but  said,  with  many  abject  bows,  that, 
having  for  three  nights  dreamed  of  his  mother,  he 
must  forego  the  delights  of  the  city  and  return  to 
Jerusalem  with  the  muleteers.  I  was  not  surprised, 
however,  to  find  him  new-minded  in  the  morning. 
Under  the  wing  of  a  Soudanese  who  had  for  three 
days  followed  our  camp,  he  proceeded  with  us,  now 
elated,  now  utterly  cast  down  and  weeping.  That 
evening,  in  Cairo,  he  appeared  at  the  hotel  door— 
with  fresh-shaven  head  and  young  beard,  but  other- 
wise deplorably  ragged — to  give  us  a  friendly  greet- 
ing; he  would  never  again  see  Jerusalem,  said  he, 
since  the  delights  of  Egypt  were  so  many  and  so 
delicious.  From  time  to  time  in  the  days  that  fol- 
lowed he  accosted  us  on  the  street,  or  waited  patient- 
ly for  our  coming;  and  we  observed  that  upon  each 
occasion  he  was  less  agreeable  to  the  eye.  Event- 
ually (as  we  learned),  having  parted  with  his  gold 
pieces  in  the  pursuit  of  happiness,  he  bethought  him- 
self, on  the  eve  of  the  Feast  of  Ramadan,  of  an  ex- 
pedient, and  with  his  last  five  piastres  procured  a 
scribe  to  fashion  messages  to  us,  interpreting  Rachid 's 
own  words.  These  in  hand,  he  presented  himself, 
smiling  ingratiatingly,  and  in  much  embarrassment 
awaited  the  response.  I  read:  "I  am  Rachid,  your 
poor  servant,  come  with  you  from  Jerusalem.  I  beg 
the  graces  from  you  for  to  buy  new  clothes  for  the 
feast.  Good  feast!" 

I  hesitated. 

"Tell  the  khawaja"  Rachid  whispered  to  Aboosh, 

210 


RACHID    GOES    HOME 

with  tears,  "that  I  have  no  need  of  finery,  but  wish 
only  to  go  home  to  my  city." 

It  blew  high  next  night:  I  pitied  Rachid,  bound 
across  the  sea  from  Port  Said  to  Jaffa,  but  I  was  glad 
that  he  had  gone  home. 


THE    END. 


LD  2l-100m-7,'40 (6936s) 


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